Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor #3) - Rose Gordon Page 0,37

tattoo of blood and desire pounding in his head as she unintentionally pressed her breasts against his arms. “You’re no imposition.” He winced at the roughness in his voice then tightened his hold on her. “It’s a gentleman’s curse, I’m afraid. Nothing for you to worry about. Now let’s shoot.”

“But I’m bothering you.”

“No, you’re not,” he said firmly. Truly, what man would think having a lady with all the right womanly curves in his arms was a bother? “We need to fire off at least one practice arrow before they come back.”

Rae moved her hands back into the proper stance.

“Perfect. Now, pull the arrow back a little further then let it go.”

Rae did as instructed and the arrow flew in the direction of the target…but missed it altogether. “I do hope you won’t be forced into the streets and be made to beg for bread.”

“I’ll be all right.” He handed her another arrow. “This time, when you look down the arrow, line the tip up with the target—specifically the center.”

“Oh,” she said.

Simon chuckled and wrapped his body around hers again. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but she did need as much help as he could give her before her brothers returned, he reasoned with himself. “I have a feeling this arrow will find a more desirable stopping place.”

“Me, too,” she said, readjusting herself.

Against his better judgment, Simon closed his eyes and for a split-second allowed himself to savor the way her soft form felt in his arms. He inched his nose closer to her hair and took in a deep inhale. Violets. Such a sweet and subtle fragrance—just like her.

“EEEEEE!” Rae’s squeal jerked Simon from his lusty fog. “Simon, I did it,” she squealed, turning in his arms and encompassing him with hers.

Simon’s desire to look down at the target rivaled that of a man wishing to be led to a hangman’s noose. Instead, his focus was right where he wanted it: on Rae and her sparkling blue eyes and pink lips that were begging for a kiss—and then they weren’t, for they found it when she pressed her lips to his.

Without a care to where they were and who all might see them, Simon cupped the side of her face with one hand and kissed her with the fervor of a thirsting man in the desert offered a cup of water.

“Careful, Mr. Appleton, or you’ll be engaged to a tart before nightfall,” came a rough voice Simon vaguely recognized.

Rae jerked back, her face going stark white. Before Simon knew what was happening, she pulled away from him and choked on a sob then took a step backward.

Simon reached for her, his fingers catching only a fistful of the fabric of her skirts. She quickly yanked it from his grip and took off running toward the little thicket of trees. Simon called after her and started to move to run after her when he was stopped by a heavy hand clamping down on his left shoulder.

Simon whipped his head around to see a snarling Mr. Fisher—the one who’d spoken so cruelly a moment ago. He shook the gruff man’s hand from his shoulder and his eye caught Mr. Hughes’; the older man lowered his head a fraction and gave it a sad shake.

Heedless to the stares he was receiving or the whispers that were already starting, Simon squared his shoulders and walked away from both men intent on finding Rae.

14

Rae had only felt so physically ill one other time.

Her stomach lurched, sending bile straight up her throat. She choked it down and kept running. It didn’t matter where she wound up, for she’d never go back. Humiliation and shame came over her in waves as she weaved in and out of the trees, over fallen branches and on top of twigs, rocks, and leaves. Why did he have to say that?

Because it’s true.

Hot, salty tears stung her eyes and coursed down her face.

Illiterate was enough to slim down her chances of a good match.

Ruined? A bitter laugh clogged her throat. The irony was too much. Her chances weren’t just slim, they were ruined.

Gasping for air, Rae spotted a fallen log and sat down in front of it, drawing her knees up to her chest and lowering her head. Perhaps nobody would ever find her.

No such luck.

“There you are,” Simon said softly a few minutes later. He walked over to her, leaves and sticks crunching and snapping beneath his leather boots.

Rae swiped at the rivulets flowing from her eyes and tried