Page 7

CHAPTER 7

“ Y ou will share all your secrets,” Sarah declared to the man before her, as they rode in the luxurious carriage hours later. Although the night had passed, it seemed the same day as when they met, when he shared words she could still scarce believe. She’d read them over and over again, and would continue to do so far into the future.

They had met earlier in the crisp morning air of the snowy world, at the carriage to await the aunt who likely still thought she was unbalanced. Yet the time passed, and his aunt didn’t arrive. Damien went to check on her and discovered she’d developed a troublesome stomach and wouldn’t make it. He suggested that since they’d already gone to so much trouble, and since neither would do anything untoward, they should still continue on a short ride.

Somehow that made sense at the time, although she didn’t actually commit to not doing anything untoward, and realistically their record left something to be desired. Yet now they were riding together in a carriage – alone – playing a game. Her friend Hannah had shared the tale of her own game of forfeits with a dashing duke, and now she was happily married. Not that Sarah wanted to get married, of course.

Yet curiosity urged her to learn more about the powerful lord. A game in which you take turns asking questions seemed perfect. If the person chose not to answer, they would have to face a challenge instead.

Unfortunately, her mind was being very wicked. “It’s my turn. Are you keeping secrets from me?”

The answer was immediate. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

It was the expected answer, the certain answer, and yet it lodged heavily in her breast, like a vice squeezing her lungs. While he expected all truths from her, this man kept secrets. Just like all men.

He paused, as if reading her discomfort. “I can say no more, except that I do plan to share all in short time. There are simply some details between us that must get sorted first.”

What sort of details? The question danced on her tongue, yet the syllables wouldn’t form. Very likely the answer would start a battle between them. He may have trapped her at his home, but he didn’t get to decide whether to keep her. No, best let it go to a challenge. “I suppose you will then have to do something instead.

He inclined his head. “What would you ask of me? It could be anything.”

Anything?

In that case, she’d like a kiss. Or two. Or even four hundred and fifty-two.

“I didn’t expect that.”

Her gaze shot up – straight to his lips – at the murmured words. “Didn’t expect what?”

“For you to be so obvious in what you want.”

She gaped at him, sputtered. “I was not obvious.”

“Really?” He brought his hand under his chin. “Because I am fairly certain I know what you want.”

“You most certainly do not,” she bristled.

“You want a kiss, don’t you?”

“I do not,” she sniffed. “You are completely and utterly wrong.” She wanted four hundred and fifty-two kisses, which was exceedingly different than a single kiss.

“Indeed,” he drawled, his tone assured she was either outright lying or deceiving him. “Yet you were looking at me just like during our last kiss.”

“I have learned a lot since our last kiss.”

The sides of his lips curled up. “Our last kiss was approximately twelve hours ago.”

She smiled sweetly. “It’s amazing what you can learn in so short a time.”

“Ahh, so you are saying you did not enjoy the kiss?”

She blinked. Commanded the words to form. Stared at him instead.

A year or so passed.

“Well?”

She blinked again . Commanded the words to form again . Stared at him instead again .

“I say, have I broken you?”

“Of course not!” Her mouth suddenly decided to work again, yet not to pretend the kiss had been anything less than extraordinary. “I was just deciding how to respond to such an impertinent question.” She folded her arms across her chest, nodded curtly, and still didn’t answer the question.

“Since a kiss is not what you wished for…” Every word made clear he knew it was exactly what she wished for. And what she couldn’t stop imagining, naturally. “Then what would you like me to do?”

She bit her bottom lip, as a thousand images and desires vied for attention. Why had she read that book her married friend had shown her, the ones that included all sorts of interesting things a man could do? Because now she was thinking of interesting things and Damien, a combination most certainly not conducive to convincing him she wasn’t interested.

Or perhaps she could further her goal of convincing him he wasn’t interested.

She hid her smile, as she sat up loftily. “Obviously, I like to be pampered in every way possible.”

He barked out laughter. She glared, and he sobered, or at least he made an extremely poor attempt to hide his amusement. Of course, she wasn’t one of those women who demanded, or even cared for, pampering. She rather disliked it, yet for the sake of her campaign, sacrifices must be made.

“All women deserve to be pampered.” His eyes sparkled in the beams of the morning sunlight.

“Don’t you mean all ladies?” The response was automatic, and she cringed. She had to choose one strategy at a time in which to dissuade him.

Yet none of them seemed to move him. “No,” he said softly. “I didn’t.”

She swallowed a lump of air. Many men saw nothing and no one beyond the ton’s golden borders. That this man had more kindness couldn’t matter. “As I said, I do enjoy pampering. Perhaps you could…” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Rub my…” As he leaned nearer, she licked her bottom lip. “Feet.”

She’d surprised him. Widened eyes betrayed it, albeit only for an instant. She expected him to protest, to groan or at least show some sort of dismay at the prospect of rubbing another person’s feet. Instead, he straightened. “I thought you were going to say somewhere else,” he murmured.

Somewhere else he could caress? And with that, every interesting body part from the book returned, accompanied by images of him touching such body parts.

Running his hands through her hair. Tracing her neck. Smoothing her arms. Scraping her neck. Stroking her stomach. Brushing her legs. Caressing her–

“Just my feet!” she shot out, as the images descended into far more interesting parts.

“Of course.”

“Of course?!”

“Indeed.” His voice lowered to a deep rumble. “Were you expecting me to say no?”

He was supposed to say, “Absolutely not.” Then he would grow angry and demand they turn around the coach and immediately return home. He was not supposed to genially agree. Actually, by the look in his eyes, it almost seemed he was looking forward to it. “Of course not. I knew you would say yes. But obviously if it bothers you, you could say no. In fact, if you’re offended and want to return back to the estate, I would understand.”

“Of course.” He grinned.

Wait – he wanted to go back?

And why in blazes was she so disappointed?

“All right then.” Her voice came out low and breathy. She cleared her throat, spoke louder. “I certainly understand. Do you want to bang on the roof to get the coachman’s attention and–”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?”

He leaned forward. “I didn’t mean I wanted to go back, just that I appreciated the offer. I was rather looking forward to your challenge.”

Her breath caught. “You were?”

“Oh yes.” He widened his body and patted his lap. “Are you ready?”

Oh. My. Goodness . The lord was literally going to caress her feet. She could count on all ten toes of said feet what a bad idea this was, and yet now that she’d issued the challenge, she couldn’t escape from it without betraying his effect on her.

“If you are uncomfortable, you could choose something else,” he drawled. “I wouldn’t want to make it difficult for you to control yourself.”

“Control myself?” she sputtered. “How dare you! I have complete and utter control, especially when it comes to you. You could caress anywhere, and it wouldn’t affect me.”

His eyes widened, as very briefly his control slipped. And hers?

It had jumped out of the carriage and was trying to rent a convenience back to London.

Her words brought back the unbidden images of him caressing everywhere – and anywhere, as it were. Innocent places. Not-so-innocent places. Feminine places. And those places grew sensitive… and achy… and… “Are you going to start?” The words came out louder than she planned, yet fortunately, or unfortunately, the coachman made no sign that he heard.

“I am waiting for you.” Damien gestured to the feet tucked on the floor, as away from him as possible. “I cannot bend down.” His voice deepened. “You will have to place what you want caressed into my lap.”

This challenge was getting worse by the second. Or according to a traitorous body – better . No doubt his omission of the actual body part was no mistake. He would caress any body part she laid in his lap.

Oh-so-tempting.

Yet he was correct that she would have to get closer. It would be nigh impossible for him to fold his massive body in the small carriage. She should just get it over with. His gaze tracked hers as she scooted back, smoothing the dress over her legs. With a glance at the curtained windows and a breath of courage, she lifted her legs.

“Let me help you.” Once she started the movement, he took control, grasping her ankles. She couldn’t stop a squeak as her back pressed against the side of the carriage, her legs propped on his thighs. They were rock solid.

“Dami–”

“Shhh.” His gentle hushing stole the words from her lips. He held her ankles with two strong arms, fully encircling them, capturing them and her in the prison of his hold. That he would release her at a single protest was no doubt, yet the words wouldn’t form on her lips. His hands were heated, large.

“Shall I remove your boots?”

No. Yes. No. Yes. A seesaw of affirmatives and negatives rose. It was dangerous, of course, for should the coach suddenly stop, it would take precious seconds to don them. Yet the thought of his bare hands caressing her skin… “I believe you must.” The words emerged crisp and cool, with far more logic than they represented in truth. “After all, you cannot actually fulfill the action with them on.”

“Indeed.” His eyes sparkled. “So it is for my benefit, is it?”

She hid a traitorous smile. “I try to be magnanimous.”

“I already know that about you.” His lips curved up. “And I am very glad you are allowing me to do this.” His hands lingered on the laces of the chocolate half-boots. “Just relax.”

Her throat tightened like an Almack’s patroness’s corset. Relaxing was beyond impossible, as he slowly pulled a lace, untightened the bow and loosened the boot. He did the same with the other before ever-slowly pulling them from her feet. She wriggled her toes as the cool air permeated the thin stockings, yet then his hands cupped them, and all coolness fled. His touch brought pure fire .

Many body parts were considered sensual. A ladies bosom. The derriere. Places she would not mention. She’d never considered feet sensual, and yet every touch sent streaks of sensation from her feet, up her legs, and throughout her body. He traced a single finger down her heel, a light and yet oh-so-excruciating touch that channeled lightning. Then he grasped both feet in both hands and… ecstasy .

A sigh escaped. It melted into a moan as she closed her eyes, surrendering to the touch. He never strayed above her ankle, yet it was as if he touched all of her, for the depth and breadth of his administrations. He kneaded the tender skin, rubbed and caressed. He bestowed attention on each toe, rubbing it between his finger, before smoothing out her heal. He manipulated her body like a master sculptor, plying pleasure that seeped into her blood, channeled to every part of her. Muscles released hidden tension, and she rather felt like a glob of orange marmalade.

“I think that’s enough.”

She fluttered her eyelashes, opened her eyes as Damien slipped a boot back on her feet. He studied it intensely, his eyes shuttered, his movements crisp and methodical. He did the other, tying the laces firmly yet not too tightly. He finished, and carefully lowered her feet to the floor, before gazing at her.

Her breath caught in her throat. If the activity had unbalanced her, it had affected him as well. His eyes shone in the sunlight, darkened with undeniable hunger. His muscles were taut, his movements not quite as smooth from a man normally as graceful as a tiger. She took a shuddering breath, sat back. “You fulfilled the challenge.”

“Actually, I believe we have only just begun,” he murmured.

She stiffened, opened her mouth, yet the denial caught on her tongue. With emotions swirling, better to move forward. “It is your turn.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, as if deciding whether to start a far deeper, and more dangerous, conversation. Yet he breathed out, relaxed back. “Are you trying incredibly hard to dislike me?”

It was the perfect question to lighten the mood. “Yes!” The word was loud and succinct, and somehow still didn’t alert the coachman. She allowed a grin. “I believe that is clear.”

“Quite.” He returned a wicked smile. “And how is that working out for you?”

Terribly. As in extraordinarily, positively, like a goldfish who’d accidentally swam into a ball for sharks sort of bad. Because not only did she not dislike him, but she could no longer stay neutral. Despite her every effort, she liked him. The extent of it was not something she was willing to explore.

Only he was not letting her not. “Do you like me?”

Oh yes. “It’s not your turn,” she protested. “I just answered your question. It is my turn to ask.”

“I believe you have misjudged me…” He leaned forward. “For a man who follows the rules.”

That she’d misjudged him was starkly clear, in far more ways than he asserted. That he didn’t heed to rules was also quite obvious. Yet other aspects of who he was – and who he wasn’t – were not as she imagined. “Regardless of whether you wish to follow the rules, you shall do so in my presence. Or do you not wish for me to follow them as well?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I believe we’ve already established that you take society’s dictates as a light suggestion, before finding a way about them.

Yes, she did.

“Why waste time protesting when you can just answer the question? It is a simple yes or no.” He lifted a shoulder. “You could answer in three seconds and then return to whatever dastardly query you have next for me, such as how large my dungeon is or where I hide my harem.”

Annoyance bit her for a harem he obviously didn’t have. Yet if a man like him wanted one… “It’s just the rules. If I let you break it, then what else might you want?”

“I believe I’ve made quite clear what I want – and what I am going to get. You admitting anything won’t change that.” Her heart thumped with each word. Was what he said true? “I don’t think this about the rules” he continued. “I don’t think you want to admit you are starting to like me.”

Yes. That’s right. So very true.

“That’s not–”

“Remember, if you lie you have to do the challenge.”

“Fine! I like you.” The words came rapidly, strongly and loudly, and it was a miracle they didn’t alert the coachman. The words also didn’t stop . “Do you know how much I tried not to like you? So much. I should be furious for all you’ve done, never want to see you. Instead all I seem to notice are your qualities, your charm and your wit, your kindness, and fates help me even your power. It’s like I’ve taken the mail coach to simpering miss village, and can’t find a return ticket.” He gave a half-choke/half-laugh. She should stop, needed to stop, and yet words still tumbled out. “I even enjoy spending time with you,” she accused, in a tone more suited for a man who had purposely poured a gallon of fruit punch over her head than who had the audacity of attracting her. She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. Slowed her breathing, waited for her heart to stop playing a speedy tempo in her heart. And as it did, a single question emerged:

Had she gone mad?

The answer to the question was an indubitable yes as the seconds passed, as Damien continued his rather disconcerting study of her. What did this man do to her? “Would you believe I was jesting?”

“Most certainly not.” His voice was low, absent of all humor. “I don’t understand.”

What was there to not understand? She liked being with him, and she liked him, to an extent that she had not truly revealed and would never admit. “The whole point was that you were not as dreadful as I believed.” She smiled to show the tease, yet it did nothing to lighten his expression.

“I do not believe that is true,” he murmured.

No, he wouldn’t. It was why she’d risked this outing with him, when she knew it could lead to a forced marriage. Whether she even had a chance to escape was in doubt.

What would Damien do to secure her as his bride?