Rules for Reforming a Rake (23 page)

“Let me help you up,” he said.

Her big, blue eyes rounded in alarm. “Don’t! He’ll bite if you get too close.”

 “My, but you’re a fidgety little thing this morning. The only one likely to do any biting is you. Brutus won’t harm me. We’ve reached an understanding.”

“What do you mean?”

He cast the beast a conspiratorial wink. “He’s promised not to make a meal of me. Isn’t that right, Brutus?”

“And what have you promised in return?”

Never to break your heart.

His hands slid along her waist as he hoisted her onto the saddle, lingering for an exquisite moment before he cupped his hand about her foot to guide it into the stirrup. “That,” he said with a catch to his voice, “is a secret.”

Which was not a very clever thing for him to say, he realized as her grin faded. He was full of secrets and she deserved better.

She bent down to whisper in her stallion’s ear. “You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

Brutus angrily shook his head and let loose with an impertinent whinny.

She let out a surprised laugh. “Goodness! Do all males stand together?”

“We must.” Otherwise, they’d be defenseless against headstrong young women with eyes the brilliant blue of a mountain lake and a smile as enchanting as a meadow flower. He muttered something about fetching Goliath and turned away to do precisely that.

“He’s magnificent,” Daisy said, eyeing the deep-chested bay he led out of the stable a moment later.

“Goliath, meet Daisy. She’s a slip of a girl, but don’t be fooled. She’s a force to be reckoned with.”

***

Gabriel had a fine eye for horses and a masterful way with them, Daisy realized. She’d never seen Brutus warm to anyone so quickly. Of course, she’d warmed to Gabriel almost as quickly, but she was a female and couldn’t help herself.

Gabriel, with his brooding eyes and ruggedly handsome face—the few scars only adding to the irresistible force of his attraction—had a devastating impact on women.

“Tell me more about this understanding between you and Brutus,” she said as they ambled toward Hyde Park. She had taken months to develop a rapport with the stallion, but Gabriel had gained his respect immediately... which had to mean Gabriel was valiant and not at all the villain he would have everyone believe.

Animals had excellent instincts.

“It’s very simple really. We faced each other and established the bounds of our territory.”

She tipped her head in confusion. “How do you establish bounds when you don’t speak the same language?”

“Oh, but we do, just not the King’s English. He snorts at me. I growl back. We take the measure of each other.”

She rolled her eyes. “I would hardly call growling at each other the basis for a lasting truce.”

He leaned closer and arched an eyebrow so that he looked appealingly wicked. “That’s because members of your sex do not understand the language of men.”

“The language of possession, pride, and conquest? Nonsense, anyone can growl.”

“You can’t,” he said, his expression so tender it made her heart ache.

“Of course I can.” She let out a low, strangled sound.

He shook his head and sighed. “Feeble.”

She tried again.

He winced. “Stop, you’re hurting my ears.”

“I am not,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Indeed, you are. That noise you’re making more resembles a squirrel begging for a nut.”

She frowned. “It sounded fine to me.”

He drew even closer and leaned forward in his saddle, his seductive gaze doing thoroughly inappropriate things to her body.

“Try this.” He released a low rumble that traveled from the depths of his stomach to the back of his throat before finally escaping in a sensually feral growl that caused her blood to heat and body to quiver.

The noise was more than the mere expression of male dominance. It was a mating call and she was responding to it like a mare in heat.

Great balls of cheese!

The man was dangerous. No wonder she’d fallen in love with him... and admitted it to him... and couldn’t take it back even if she wished.

***

“The fog’s lifting,” Gabriel said, the short canter from Graelem’s stable to the park leaving him in torment, but when was he not in torment when close to Daisy?

He forced his attention to the sandy trail known as Rotten Row. Several grooms and trainers were already on the trail, exercising their master’s mounts. All appeared as it should, business as usual and no strangers who didn’t belong. More important, Napoleon’s spies were no longer following him since Daisy had thoroughly confused them last night.

Which also meant they weren’t following
her
.

That’s all he cared about, keeping her safe.

“Keep that cap low on your head and don’t make eye contact with anyone,” he reminded, although she wasn’t likely to be recognized. The fashionable set was never out this early, but one couldn’t be too careful.

“You needn’t worry. Those men will be looking at our horses and not at us.”

“Not if they catch a glimpse of your face.” Daisy’s incredible blue eyes and sooty lashes would give away her disguise.

She let out a little harrumph; however, her indignation passed quickly as she put Brutus through his paces. When she turned to him again, she had an adorable grin on her face. “Brutus needs to warm up before our race.”

“Very well. Let’s see what he can do.”

She spurred Brutus to a gallop, leaving Gabriel once more in amazement as horse and rider covered the track with incredible speed. Daisy was one of the most adept riders he’d ever seen, confident and utterly fearless, she and her mount seeming to move as one.

“Well, Goliath? Are we going to let a little girl beat us?” The stallion needed no urging to take off at a gallop, but there was too much distance to make up and Gabriel knew he’d manage little more than keeping Daisy in his sight.

He finally caught up with her by the Serpentine. She had dismounted and was casually standing by the water’s edge, her arms folded and impertinent chin upraised while Brutus stood beside her, lapping water.

Gabriel dismounted and released Goliath to join his equine companion.

“Took you long enough to catch up,” Daisy teased.

He tucked a finger under her chin and smiled. “Those shall be my precise words to you after I win the race.”

She laughed merrily. “Typical male, all preen and bluster! Are you ready?”

“Yes. We’ve already drawn unwanted attention,” he said, nodding in the direction of the grooms and trainers who were looking their way and beginning to edge closer. Those men couldn’t help but be drawn to superb horseflesh, nor could they resist a good race.

“Brutus loves an attentive crowd, makes his winning all the more rewarding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And what about concealing your identity?”

She nibbled her lower lip. “You’re right. We had better go.”

“As I mentioned earlier, we’ll take two laps around the park and finish at Graelem’s stable. No one will follow us through the London streets. First one to reach the stable is the winner. Agreed?”

She cast him another adorable smile. “Agreed.”

Daisy and her Brutus edged out Gabriel and his Goliath by a nose, though Gabriel knew he could have won had he not held Goliath back that littlest bit at the end. Nevertheless, Daisy ran a brilliant race and he wouldn’t take the hard-earned victory from her.

She reached the stable a few strides ahead of him and, leaping out of her saddle with grace and agility, let out a triumphant cheer. “Victory is mine!”

He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s not very sportsmanlike.”

“Indeed, not at all!” she agreed without a trace of remorse.

He stifled a groan as she tugged the cap off her head, unbound her braid, and slowly, sensually shook out her long, black locks. Her beautiful mane cascaded over her shoulders, flowing down her back in dark, rippling waves.

Did she have any idea how lovely she looked?

“Winner gets to pick her prize,” she said, tossing him the dare.

He dismounted and strode toward her. “What’s it to be?”

She trained her still sparkling blue eyes on him. “The truth about last night.”

“No,” he said gently. “Speaking about it will place you, me, and countless others in greater danger. Do you understand? You are never to discuss this incident with anyone. Not your parents, not your sisters. No one.”

He expected an argument, but she merely shook her head slowly. “Will you ever tell me the truth?”

“I don’t know. That’s as honest as I can be.”

She sighed and shook her head again. “Very well, I’ll pick another prize.”

He nodded. “Go ahead.”

“A kiss from the loser.”

She was determined to torture him.

He should have said no again.

“Well?” She arched a dainty eyebrow and folded her arms over her delightfully ample breasts. Glorious breasts. Damn glorious. The memory of his lips against her soft mounds and their hard, pink tips was about to send him over the edge.

He should have insisted they unsaddle the horses and return the saddles to Laurel’s grooms to be properly oiled and polished.

He should have said absolutely no.

And retrieved pails and brushes to feed and curry Brutus and Goliath.

He had watched Daisy ride Brutus, her legs straddling his sweat-sheened body, urging him faster and faster to the finish, her own lithe body moving in perfect rhythm to the beast’s strides—and had imagined her, naked and hot, riding atop him with equal rhythmic fervor.

A kiss?

He ached to bury himself inside her body and claim possession of her soul, ached to carry her to majestic heights, her senses soaring in one, incredible burst of passion. “Very well, but my way.”

She gazed at him in confusion. “Your way? Are there different ways of kissing?”

He swept her into his arms, molding her body to his so that her utterly and incredibly perfect breasts were pressed against his hard chest and her long, slender legs rested against his thighs. He lowered his hungry lips to her honey-sweet mouth, needing the hot, urgent memory to sustain him through the bitter French nights.

He cupped one lush mound—so soft and perfect—teasing its rosy bud with his thumb, gently stroking and caressing through the coarse fabric of her shirt until she moaned and shuddered in a wave crest of desire.

He slid his hand inside her shirt, his palm rough against her smooth, pink flesh and pebble-hard nipples. He yearned to free her from her cumbersome clothes, yearned to taste her sweet, hot flesh and inhale the intoxicating scent of her passion.

“Merciful heavens, Miss Daisy!” The shocked cry came from behind him, instantly and painfully dragging him back to his senses, for he was hot and hard and on the verge of losing control.

A pail clattered to the ground, also behind him.

“Amos!” Daisy cried out, pushing out of Gabriel’s arms.

“Who’s Amos?” Gabriel followed her gaze to a young man the size of an ox. His face was as red as a beet, but it was a kind face despite his brawn.

“He’s one of our footmen,” she explained in a short, breathless gasp and crossed her hands over the front of her shirt to hide its disarray. “He brought me here.”

“And waited to escort you back?”

“Yes,” she said, a blush now staining her cheeks. The gleam of passion remained in her eyes, revealing that his touch had affected her. Her lips were pink and lightly swollen from his kiss. “I’m not so foolish as to walk through the streets of London on my own.”

Yet she’d had no qualms about traipsing through a dark garden on her own, or sneaking out of bed to ride a beast capable of crushing her with barely a flick of its hooves. Nor had she discouraged him from swallowing her up in his kiss.

He’d gone far beyond a mere kiss. Her shirt was open down the front and so was his, so desperate was he to touch and taste her sweet, silken skin.

Foolish?

They were both—he and Daisy—mad as hatters and bound for Bedlam.

“I’ll be right along, Amos,” she said, scrambling to put order to her clothing. “Please wait outside.”

Gabriel helped with her buttons and ties, stifling yet more groans each time he grazed her warm skin and ran his fingers through her silky mane to tuck it back under her cap. She cast him a dewy-eyed gaze that made him want to kiss her again. “You held Goliath back during the race, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t wish to disappoint the girl, but neither did he wish to lie to her—he’d already lied about too many things.

He needn’t have worried about hurt feelings, he realized in the next moment as she cast him an impish grin.

“I did the same with Brutus. No matter what you think, I really did beat you.”

GABRIEL DECIDED
to pay a call on his grandmother later that morning, his purpose to discuss Daisy and undo the muddle he’d made of matters by his inability to keep his hands off the girl. The little innocent had efficiently demolished his iron discipline and he was sinking as fast as an English frigate with a gaping hole in its keel.

He had to repair the damage before he left London, for he wasn’t going to leave Daisy with hope in her gorgeous blue eyes. She needed to move on, settle down with someone who would offer her a safe, secure marriage.

 He also needed his grandmother to get Lady Forsythia’s damn book out of Daisy’s hands. The girl, by her own admission, hadn’t followed a single rule about how to reform a rake, and her constant misadventures were wreaking havoc on his composure.

Surely, nowhere in Lady Forsythia’s book did it say to
take the rake’s hand and place it on your breast.
Nowhere could it possibly have said to
tell the rake you love him and then trust him to do the right thing.

“Gabriel, how lovely to see you,” Eloise said, motioning him into her chamber. She was still abed, in her robe and nightgown, finishing the last of her breakfast. Her silver hair was tucked under her cap except for a fat curl falling on each cheek.