To Wed a Wild Lord (24 page)

“Dr. Buchanan’s says it will refresh the patient.”

“You brought in a doctor for Molly?”

“No, that seemed premature. I suspect she just has an ague. But I refer to Dr. Buchanan’s
Domestic Medicine
whenever one of us is ill. He gives very sensible advice.”

Gabe tried to imagine one of the simpering ladies that he met in society poring over a medical book, but he couldn’t. About the only thing that lot ever consulted was
The Lady’s Magazine.

Setting the half-empty bowl on the dresser, she ushered him out the door. As he followed her down the stairs, she said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“But I am,” he said. “Might as well stay awhile.”

It was dawning on him that he finally had her alone. Molly was clearly not going to be good for much in the next few hours, and if everyone else was gone, this might be his chance to win her.

Giles had won Minerva by compromising her. Why shouldn’t that work for him? “I could help you with Molly,” he said as Virginia hurried down the stairs to the front hall.

“I don’t need help with Molly.” She headed for the front door so fast, he had to catch her by the arm to halt her.

“Then I could help you with whatever else you need,” he persisted.

“The only thing I need right now is to fall into bed.” The minute the words left her lips, she blushed. “I mean, I . . . I need sleep.”

He caught her by the chin. “I could help you sleep,” he drawled.

Her eyes darkened to the troubled blue of a stormtossed lake as she lifted her hands to push against his chest. “Gabriel—”

He kissed her. How could he resist? Fresh from her bed, she looked as wild and wanton as a French opera dancer, yet somehow innocent, too, in all that white linen and lace. He wanted to ravish her and cherish her all at the same time.

For a moment, she remained rigid in his arms. Then her arms crept about his waist, and she melted into him like the sweet vixen that she was. Her mouth opened beneath his, and he drove his tongue inside, craving her soft warmth, aching to make her his.

He couldn’t keep his hands still, not with so much glorious femininity in his grasp, but when he slid them up to cup her breasts, she thrust him away.

Her eyes were wide, but not frightened. “You should go.”

“You don’t want me to go.”

Her quickening breath showed he was right. “It’s not wise that you stay.”

“Since when do you always do what’s wise?”

She shook her head at him. “I haven’t made up my mind about you.”

“Then let me help you with that,” he whispered and hauled her into his arms again.

This time their kisses went longer, grew hotter, until they were both gasping, and her body was plastered to his. He managed to stay clear of the parts he yearned to touch, but then she flung her arms about his neck, dislodging his hat, and buried her hands in his hair—

And drew back with a cry of alarm. “What’s this?” Her fingers probed the gash on his head. “You’re hurt!”

Damn it, he’d completely forgotten about that. “It’s fine, just a little cut.”

“You’re bleeding!” Grabbing him by the arm, she tugged him down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Honestly, Virginia, it’s nothing.”

“Sit down,” she ordered. “That is not nothing.” When he hesitated, she added, more firmly, “Sit down before I
make
you sit down.”

He let out a laugh and she glowered at him. He dropped into a chair. “I had no idea you were so bossy.”

“What choice do I have when faced with fools like you and Poppy?” She poured some water from a pitcher over a rag. “
Nothing
, indeed. You men always say that while you’re trailing blood and sporting broken bones.” Still grumbling, she came over to sponge his wound. “Looks like you’ve got a piece of wood in there. We have to get that out.”

She left his side to fetch what she needed. “What did you do, run into a tree?”

“You could say that.” He was rather enjoying having her fuss over him.

Until she came back and probed his head with the point of a paring knife.

“Good God almighty,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t you do that less vigorously?”

“I’m only trying to help,” she said primly.

“You seem to be enjoying it just a little too much.”

“No more than you enjoy risking your life for a few pounds,” she snapped.

A clink sounded as she dropped something into a tin bowl. He peered into it to see a sizable splinter of wood.

“And you claimed this wouldn’t be a dangerous race,” she muttered as she dabbed at his wound. “Every race you run is dangerous—it’s the only kind you know. I daresay you gave your mother fits when you were a child, running into things and playing with sharp sticks.” She drew back to assess the gash. “Sweet Lord, do you realize how close this is to your eye?”

“Not
that
close,” he protested.

“You could have gouged your eye out! The wound won’t stop bleeding, so I’ll have to treat it with something. Take off everything down to your waist.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She was already bustling off to a chest in the corner. “I don’t want to ruin your clothes.” It was clear from her no-nonsense demeanor that she meant that and only that.

With a sigh he untied his cravat, then rose to peel off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt.

Meanwhile, she rummaged through the chest. “It’s a wonder you didn’t rip off an ear, although that might have been a good thing. Might have made you think twice the next time you set out to kill yourself for a foolish wager.” She stopped to glare at him. “Was that hundred pounds worth nearly killing yourself?”

He scowled as he tossed his clothes onto the table. “Actually, I didn’t win.”

Her eyes widened. “But you never lose.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled, dropping back into the chair.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened? He outrode me.” He’d be damned if he told her it was because he’d been thinking of
her
.

But if he’d thought his loss would gain him her sympathy, he was vastly mistaken. “That makes it even worse.” Plucking a stoppered bottle out of the chest, she brought it and a rag over to him. “You lost a hundred pounds risking your life, and now you have a gash on your head that might still kill you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t die from a little scratch.”

“Little scratch, my eye.” She poured some liquid over the wound.

“Ow!” he protested as it dripped onto his shoulder and she sponged it away with the rag. “What the hell is that?”

“Spirits of wine, to stop the bleeding. Now hold that on there.” Pressing the rag to his head, she put his hand on it. “I’m going to fetch some sticking plaster.”

He grabbed her by the arm. “Absolutely not. I’d be the laughingstock of London. Bandage it if you must, but—”

“I suppose you think a bandage would look more dashing.” Fire blazed in her eyes. “So now I have to hunt up some black linen to wrap around your idiot head so it’ll match your black—”

She broke off. “Wait a minute.” Her eyes scanned him, then darted to the pile of clothes on the table. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, her anger had been replaced by shock. “You’re not wearing black.”

Chapter Fifteen

V
irginia couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed before. But she was certainly noticing now. He wore fawn-colored buckskin breeches, and on the table lay a chocolate-brown coat, a buff waistcoat, a white linen shirt, and a snowy cravat.

“What happened to your black shirt?” she asked.

He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I got tired of it.”

A lump caught in her throat. “And the rest of your black clothes? You got tired of those, too?”

He shrugged. “I figured it was time to give it a rest, is all.”

There was more to it than that, and they both knew it. He’d stopped wearing black because of what she’d said yesterday.

She couldn’t believe it. He’d made such an enormous change for
her
. If he could do that after so many years, then might he eventually do more? Might he even let her into that wary heart of his one day?

Trying to regain control of her feelings, she murmured, “You look good in brown.”

His darkening gaze sent a shaft of need straight to her belly and below. Even with his hand on his head reminding her of his wound, she couldn’t keep from reacting to his nearness. It had been two days since he’d caught her in the stable, two days since he’d woven his spell about her. It felt like forever.

It felt like a second. “You look good in white,” he rasped.

Sweet Lord, she’d completely forgotten how inappropriately she was dressed. He reached up with his free hand to untie her wrapper, then open it and slide it off her shoulders. It swished down to crumple at her feet, leaving her in only her night rail. Her flimsy, semitransparent night rail.

She couldn’t let him do this. She’d sworn not to give in to him until he was willing to share his secrets—yet here she was, already half-naked with him, her blood heating and her pulse stammering and her body yearning to have him . . .

No! She had to get away from him, to gain some air. “I’ll go get a bandage for your head. I-I think I have some cloth I can use.” Scooping up her wrapper, she hastened to the door. If she just had a moment to think, to put proper clothes on, so she didn’t feel so exposed . . .

“Virginia, wait!” he cried, but she ignored him as she hurried out and raced up the stairs.

In her bedchamber she stood staring blankly into space, fighting for equilibrium, her wrapper still clutched in her hand. If she weren’t careful, she just might—

“Are you running away from me, sweetheart?” Gabriel asked from behind her.

She whirled to find him standing in the open doorway. She hadn’t expected him to follow her. “What are you doing here?”

When he stepped inside and closed the door, a thrill shot through her, equal parts alarm and excitement. Naked from the waist up, he looked sinful and dangerous. Deliciously dangerous.

“You shouldn’t be in my bedroom,” she said, attempting to sound firm.

He scanned her room. “This isn’t what I expected.”

She followed his gaze to the bed coverings of red damask that she’d made out of fabric belonging to her late mother, and the golden patterned wallpaper that she’d put up herself. She was rather proud of her bedroom. “Why not?” she asked defensively.

“After a week of watching you here at the farm, I thought your room would be more plain and practical.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I should have known better. You have a romantic streak running through you as wide as that fancy rug you’re standing on.”

She sniffed. “If you don’t like my room—”

“Ah, but I do. It suits you. The inner sanctum of Miss Virginia Waverly. On the outside is the efficient lady of the manor running the farmhouse. On the inside is the bold enchantress who challenges men to races and spies on them in stables.” His voice deepened. “And tempts them to riot.” With stark hunger in his eyes, he pushed away from the door. “Who knew that beneath the crisp linen and starched apron lay so much velvet and lace?”

She swallowed. Why must he be the only man who ever saw that? Who truly understood her? “And you claim you’re not a poet.”

“I guess you bring it out in me.” His eyes took a slow, intimate survey of her thinly clad body, making her blood clamor with need. “The same way I bring out the recklessness in you.”

“This is too reckless, even for me,” she said in a vain attempt at protest.

“I doubt that. Anyway, I just came to tell you that I don’t need a bandage.” Dropping into the nearest chair, he tapped his head. “See for yourself.”

Warily, she approached him, keeping well to the side as she peered at his head. She moved a lock of his hair to get a better look. He was right. The wound had stopped bleeding and was crusting over.

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. With his gaze on hers, he kissed the back of her hand, so gently that it stopped her breath in her throat. Then he turned her hand over to kiss her palm. And next, her wrist.

Her pulse jumped into a frenzy beneath his lips.

“Don’t,” she whispered, tugging her hand free and turning to walk away.

Snagging her about the waist, he pulled her down onto his lap.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said hoarsely as she struggled against his grip. “You shouldn’t—”

“Do you want to know the real reason I lost the race today?” he growled against her ear.

She stilled, her heart in her throat. With her back to him she couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his arousal beneath her bottom. And it was stoking her own desire.

He reached up to unbutton her nightdress, and she let him, even when he parted the edges to expose her breasts. “I lost because my concentration was shattered. My mind was elsewhere.” He covered one bare breast with his hand. “On you. On how badly I wanted you. How badly I wanted to be here with you.”

A deep need seized her that wouldn’t be denied. She wanted him here with her, perish his soul.

He fondled her breast, and a sigh of pleasure left her lips. “So,” she gasped, “you’re blaming . . . me for your . . . loss.”

“Something like that. Though if you’d been standing at the end of the course dressed like this, I promise I would have won.”

A purely feminine delight swirled through her. She tried to tell herself they were the practiced words of a practiced seducer, but she no longer believed it. Not after seeing his agony yesterday. Gabriel was many things, but a vain flatterer wasn’t one of them.

He filled both hands with her breasts, teasing the nipples until she grew all fuzzy and agitated inside. Nothing this wonderful had ever happened to her, and while she shouldn’t indulge him or herself, she wanted to badly. So very badly.

He slowly dragged her nightdress up her thighs so he could slip his hand beneath it. His breath came hot against her ear. “You’re not wearing any drawers.”

She blushed. “I never do when I sleep.” “I’ll have to catch you in your nightdress more often.” His hand found the place between her legs where she felt damp and warm and eager, and he rubbed it deliciously. When he slid his finger inside her, she let out a gasp. It was every bit as luscious as when he’d used his tongue on her in the stable.