Revenge Wears Rubies (13 page)

The next morning, the weather was too fine not to draw out London’s elite to Hyde Park to show off their latest fashions and see what other acquisitions and acquaintances could excite interest. As usual during the social season, invitations would be made, alliances created, and a few relationships severed.

Haley adjusted the sheer veil across her face as she rode along the path, wishing that Mr. Hawke had selected a more private place for conversation. But his note had requested a meeting here, and after their encounter last night and the sleepless hours that had followed, she’d decided that it was better to meet him quickly and be done with it while her courage lasted.

“Most people come here to be seen, Miss Moreland. But I think I would know you anywhere, even if you were swathed from head to toe.”

She barely managed to swallow a squeak of surprise as he seemed to appear out of thin air on a stallion at her side. “Mr. Hawke, I . . . I would prefer not to be seen.”

“Then you should have foregone the veil. It’s easier to hide in plain sight if you look as if you have nothing to hide at all,” he said, his wry humor ringing softly in his tone.

She smiled. “Once again, you seem to be an expert on the topic.”

“I seem to get more practice since meeting you, Miss Moreland,” he countered.

She tried not to laugh. “Why am I having trouble believing that?”

“I can’t imagine.”

Haley shook her head and looked away from him. It was harder to recall her purpose if she looked at him, so dashing in the tailored cut of his riding clothes. The dark coat over his white shirt accented his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and the flex of his thighs was all too visible beneath his doeskin pants as he controlled his mount.
Can a man be that good-looking and not be vain?
Haley seized on the thought, as if hoping to find fault in a flawless picture. But when she glanced over to scrutinize him, the hope died as she took in his crooked cravat and the obvious lack of time he’d taken with those black curls.

He guided his horse off the path and then reined in to make sure she was following. “Come, Miss Moreland. We’ll escape public eyes and ears and see if we can’t have a private conversation.”

Haley hesitated. An audience of curious peers represented great risk if they were overheard, but they also meant security if she stayed within earshot of them. If he intended to take advantage . . .

Mr. Hawke gave her a knowing look full of challenge. “We can always talk on the main circle and then you’d have a hundred chaperones, or a hundred witnesses, depending on your point of view.”

She pulled on the reins and urged her horse to follow him. “I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Hawke.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He spurred his horse into a gentle canter, and for a few minutes, the pair simply rode through the trees until they found a private copse where the ground dipped lower, making it a completely secluded location.

“There, you see?” he commented as he dismounted and secured his horse’s reins to a branch. “We’re in a public park and yet entirely alone.”

She dismounted as well, determined not to let him see how nervous she’d become, and lifted her veil to push it back onto the brim of her riding hat. “Your note was . . .” Haley squared her shoulders and began again. “I agreed to meet you only because I need to entreat you privately, and in earnest, to cease and desist!”

“Cease and desist what, exactly?”

The lecture she had rehearsed in her head all night long faltered in one unsteady breath. “Y-you know perfectly well!”

He shook his head, his look a mockery of innocence. “I’m afraid I can’t cease doing something if I don’t know what it is, Miss Moreland.” He raised an eyebrow, the very image of a challenge. “Can you not be more specific?”

“You . . .” She stamped her foot in frustration. “Your outrageous flirting and attention! If people haven’t noticed, they soon will, and I don’t want—”

“Flirting?” he asked nonchalantly. “I can’t remember ever being accused of outrageous flirting before. Is there a circumspect level of flirtation that I wasn’t aware of? Should I ask Mr. Trumble? I don’t think I’ve even seen the man attempt to kiss your hand, so perhaps he would know.”

“You’ll ask him nothing of the kind!”

“I’ll ask him whatever I wish, unless you agree to answer one question honestly.” He stepped away from his horse, closing the distance between them. “Not that I often practice blackmail, but you, Miss Moreland, force a man to think creatively.”

“One truthful answer? I suppose it’s a small price to pay, but if you were a true gentleman you would agree to be discreet without demanding anything in trade.” Haley crossed her arms. “What question then?”

“Why Herbert?”

Haley’s cheeks burned with humiliation, but she finally answered him as honestly as she dared. “I will never lose my head with Mr. Trumble. I will never . . . be swept off my feet. And for all the endless verses of the poets, I am fairly sure that a practical life without blinding passion is not the tragedy they would have you believe. It is dangerous to want more than the world is capable of giving, Mr. Hawke.”

“You need to be swept off your feet. You of all the women I have ever met, Miss Moreland, need to be thoroughly and dangerously blinded by passion. And I think you want to be, more than anything else.”

“You don’t know me at all.”

He drew even closer, standing within arm’s reach, but made no move to touch her. And she realized that she was all too aware of him, of every physical detail, every button on his coat, every glorious angle of his face and the emerald fire in his eyes. She was close enough to smell the soap on his skin and suddenly her knees were numb and unresponsive.
Too close. Oh, God, not close enough!

“Call me a liar, Miss Moreland.”

“You are . . .” Whatever accusation she’d intended faded at the maelstrom of her thoughts.
Who is he? This impossible man . . . making my insides spin fire and ice . . .

“I am . . . ?”

“You’re a sinful, depraved man and I want nothing to do with you.”

His response was a single look of wicked regard. “Really? Are you so sure?” He shifted forward, in one graceful movement asserting his dominance, her view filled only with the wall of his chest as he was mere inches from her nose, the heady male scent filling her nostrils. “And what about you, Miss Moreland?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I am depraved, as you say, then what are you?”

“You go too far.”

“What should I think of a woman whose eyes met mine last night at Marchfield’s? You never moved to alert anyone else. You didn’t look away from me, my dear.”

“I was . . . too shocked.” The words sounded feeble, even to her, and Haley knew that the lie wouldn’t hold. Even now the memory of it—reinforced by the way he was looking at her now with raw, potent, shameless desire—made something inside of her begin to tighten and ache with a hunger equal to his.

“And now? I’m close enough to have earned a slap by now, Miss Moreland. But you aren’t running away.” He leaned down, his breath sweeping across the bare skin of her throat. “We are the same, you and I. And I suspect you realize that you have met your match.”

She gasped, struggling to recover her composure. “You presume too much! I am engaged to be married, Mr. Hawke. I am—”

“You are here, with me, and we can argue presumptions another time.” His hands reached out to pull her close against him, the gentle heat of his hands on her arms enough to tip her easily into his embrace, effectively punctuating his argument about her willingness. “Kiss me, Haley, and then should you command me to, I’ll obediently retreat forever.”

“What makes you think that I would . . . do such a thing and not insist that you retreat now?”

“Because obedience comes at a price, and because my insolence gives you the perfect excuse to prove that you are immune to my charms—with a single kiss.”

Galen watched the storm in her eyes crescendo and subside, and he knew she’d given up on the inevitable feminine debate of yes or no.
Yes! Miss Moreland, to me, you will always say “yes.”
He lowered his head slowly, savoring this moment of fleeting victory, and kissed her for the first time.

For a first kiss, it was remarkably indolent. He let her dictate the pace, and discovered immediately how potent Miss Haley Moreland could be. Unlike so many women, she made no rushed, nervous grab at his arms for balance, nor pressed into him to “accidentally” ensure he was aware of all of her charms. This was not the practiced kiss of a woman playing the maiden; this was a maiden practicing her arts on a man for the first time, and Galen was completely at her mercy.

Never before had he allowed a woman to take charge, but with Haley, every instinct insisted that he give her this chance. Even so, his body began to fight against the logic of self-control as the fire she evoked started to rage through his veins.

This kiss held no trace of a tremble of haste or a push for a quick end. Not
this
kiss. This kiss was the slow and leisurely exploration of every soft corner of his mouth, of every variation of his touch and taste until he’d thought he’d die from the pleasure of it.

Her tongue was velvet, and he mirrored each movement, suckling and guiding her, tasting her as she had him, but with a gentle force to try to draw out her trust and build her virginal confidence in the power of her actions.

One kiss became a dozen, and one of Galen’s hands slid up her back to cradle her against him, the other tracing the sweet lines of her face and throat, sampling the silk of her skin and the intoxicating tangle of her soft hair in his fingers. She yielded to let him take control with a sigh, and Galen’s palms itched to explore more of her, to remove the layers of impractical feminine clothing that kept her body from his; but he knew better than to pop a single button. The knoll’s isolation wasn’t impenetrable by any measurement, and if they were discovered too soon, it would foil his greater plan. As bold as Miss Moreland was, Galen knew that her courage would evaporate the minute he went further than reason allowed.

But reason was abandoning them both.

She moaned softly and he drank it in, marveling at its sweetness, the vibration resonating through his body and tightening the knot of heat between his legs until his cock was stiff and heavy with it.

He guided her backward until they were halted by a giant oak, and Galen tried to ignore the thought that he now had whatever physical leverage he needed to take her if he chose to. An erotic image of the serene Miss Haley Moreland with her legs wrapped around his waist while he rode her into oblivion against a tree was so sharp and sweet he almost spent himself in his pants.

He finally pulled back from the kiss, but only to blaze a trail with his mouth down her chin to the wild pulse at her throat, flickering his tongue along her skin while his hot breath made her writhe against him. She arched her back, her breasts pressed against him, and he held her as close as he could to savor the hot curves of her body against him. His thigh instinctively slid in between the yielding haven of hers, and even with the barrier of her skirts and his riding breeches, he could feel the scorching heat of her most intimate flesh. He shifted his leg up, deliberately adding to the friction and pressure against her clit, and returned to her mouth to deepen his kiss at the same time to drive her further down the sensual path that would give him what he most desired.

And then without warning, she was pushing him away. Every fiber in his body protested, but Galen released her instantly. It wouldn’t pay to play the bully now, no matter how much she’d heated his blood.

“I can’t! I won’t do this, Mr. Hawke!” Her breath was coming quickly, and she staggered away, forcing him to hold out his hand to steady her on her feet.

“You’ll forgive me if I point out that your kisses didn’t seem so equivocal,” he said softly, adjusting his coat to make sure she wouldn’t be alarmed at the sight of his swollen cock outlined by his tight breeches.

She looked up at him, her expression full of pain, fresh and raw, and Galen experienced a mixture of concern and vindication.
I’ve wounded her . . . so quickly . . . and all I can feel is a sense of power and . . . desire.

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Hawke.”

“Do you?” It was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

“I wanted—to know what it was like, to kiss you. To experience what it could be to . . .” She hesitated, her eyes gaining a sheen of unshed tears, but her voice grew stronger and steadier as she spoke. “I apologize if I misled you. It won’t happen again. I have to protect Herbert and my reputation—no matter how much of a temptation you present. I am not some stupid ninny to be ruled by passion and risk ruin.”

“I see.” He struggled to keep his expression neutral, as if he truly believed a single word of it. Though there was one truth in all of it—she was most definitely
not
a stupid ninny. As for the rest, it was too comical to take in, but he did his best to nod.
What a beautiful liar you are, Miss Moreland.
“As you wish.”

She walked to her horse and then made one or two unsuccessful attempts to remount before Galen crossed behind her. “Please, Miss Moreland. Allow me to help you.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, without looking at him.

Galen smiled behind her.
You can’t look at me because you’re afraid you’ll kiss me again, and then what will have happened to that delightfully prim speech you just managed?

He knelt to let her use his thigh as a step, but then made sure he reached his hand up to firmly give her pert little backside an extra boost. She squeaked in surprise, but the maneuver was complete before she could really protest, and Galen stood to dutifully see to her saddle and make sure her skirts were clear of the straps.

He enjoyed the role of groomsman, taking a few liberties as he allowed his hand to slide up her calf while he placed her foot in the stirrup and along the outside of her thighs to make sure she was properly seated. He was just careful enough not to give her the excuse of indignation, but firm enough with his caresses to keep her off balance.