And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,49
kiss her neck, the hollow of her throat, and then back to her lips, returning to her eagerly, hungrily.
His hand caught hold of her backside and drew her closer, right up against him, and Daphne’s lashes fluttered open as she realized just how much of a rake Lord Henry was . . . and in that same moment, the sharp trill of a warbler burst through the stillness.
It was as if the bird’s song brought with it a reminder. Cousin Crispin’s warning.
Consider this choice carefully, for once made it cannot be undone.
Cannot be undone . . .
Half mad with desires she was only beginning to understand, but knew would lure her to her ruin, Daphne wrenched herself away from this man who had suddenly stopped being merely a Seldon.
And something oh-so-much-more treacherous.
No, desirable. Very much so.
“Miss Dale, I—”
She held up her hand. “No. Please don’t say a word.” For she didn’t know what she feared more: his words dousing the fire between them or his saying something utterly unforgivable . . . like apologizing for his behavior or calling it a mistake.
“It’s just that—”
“Please, Lord Henry!” This time she pleaded. “Can we not speak of this?”
For a moment they just stood there, naught but an arm’s length between them. And like it had earlier, that spark started to kindle anew as she stole a glance at him. For there in his eyes was the truth.
He wanted her back in his arms.
And, oh, how she wanted to return. To that breathless place where there was only his lips on hers, his arms around her, and passion . . . nothing but passion between them.
But then it was as if he heard his own warning, and his eyes widened as if he had just connected the woman before him with the woman to whom he’d pledged earlier to keep his distance.
Much to her chagrin he took a hasty step back. “Yes, yes, I suppose it is for the better.”
They stood there for some time, separated by silence and wariness until Lord Henry asked quietly, “What will he do?”
So quietly that she barely discerned that he’d spoken, for she was still lost in her tangled thoughts, this sudden passion.
Daphne glanced up, blinking. “Pardon?”
“What will Lord Dale do now?” He bent over and picked up his greatcoat, this time handing it to her instead of settling it over her shoulders himself.
Oh, yes, Crispin. She’d nearly forgotten. Shrugging on the coat, she slanted a glance at Lord Henry. It was easy to see why the threat of her relatives was so far from her thoughts.
His blue eyes still held a smoky hue, his tawny hair loose from his usual queue—giving him a pirate air. Without his driving coat, he cut a rakish figure, standing there in his dark jacket, plain waistcoat and breeches. Polished boots encased his muscled calves. And that chest, oh, she knew that chest so well now, for her hands had splayed across it, explored it.
She blushed at her wayward thoughts and looked away.
“Crispin?” he nudged.
“Oh, yes,” she stammered. “Most likely, he’ll write Aunt Damaris.”
“Damaris Dale?” Lord Henry exclaimed, his words followed by a great shudder.
Apparently her great-aunt’s infamy extended even outside the family.
Daphne continued on with the likely scenario. “Then there will be a flurry of correspondence as to what must be done.”
“That could take a week or so,” he offered, most likely trying to appear helpful. That, or calculating the necessary fortifications that would need to be made to Owle Park.
“And then someone will be dispatched to fetch me home.” She made her way back to her sad, lonely bonnet and picked it up. The pink bow lay flat, and the silk flowers that had looked so jaunty earlier were now all well past their bloom.
The whole thing was a shambles.
Just like her plans to find Dishforth.
“Oh, dear!” she gasped, her hands coming to her still swollen lips. Lips that she’d vowed only for another.
However had she forgotten her stalwart, her steady love so quickly? So utterly?
She glanced over at Lord Henry and found him studying her, a bevy of questions mulling about behind the furrow of his brow, the intensity of his scrutiny.
One not to leave any stone unturned, as she feared, he asked, “Why did you come here, to Owle Park, if you knew this would happen?”
This? Their kiss? She looked at him and realized he’d meant—much to her embarrassment—something else entirely.