How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (25 page)

Sin slowly set her on her feet. Her thick black
hair, soft as silk and curling with a life of its own, was already falling down on one side. He kept an arm about her waist, her hair clinging to his arm as if to hold him in place.

“Sin, you can release me.”

He could hold her forever.

“Sin?”

He started. “Of course.” He removed his arm and she put a respectable distance between them. “We’ll tell MacDougal about the ladder on our way out.”

She nodded and, after an awkward pause, said, “Thank you for catching me.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

She smiled, fingering the froth of lace that decorated the neckline of her gown.

It made him wonder about the treasures hidden under the foamy whiteness. “It’s rather fortunate I wasn’t, say, avoiding you. Had I been, I wouldn’t have heard your call for help.”

She flushed and turned toward the door like a deer in flight.

He stepped forward, blocking her way. “No, damn it. Don’t rush away. I wish to speak to you.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Then be unwise for a moment. Regardless of what my aunt says, there’s no reason for us to avoid each other. We’re wasting precious time that we could better spend together.”

“Sin, we should never have tempted fate the way
we did. Had someone caught us . . . ” She shook her head.

“Tempting fate?” His gaze swept over her. “Oh, Rose, we were tempting much more than fate.”

“You didn’t enjoy being the center of a scandal before,” she retorted. “What makes you think you’ll enjoy it now?”

“Perhaps I’ve found something that is worth risking such an occurrence.”

Rose could only blink. “You mean
me
? That
I’m
worth taking a chance on?”

“Who else?” He came closer, moving with that lethal grace that made her mouth go dry. “Rose, I want to see what this attraction is that plays between us. I want to see where it takes us, and I want us to enjoy it while it lasts.”

He’d had her, right up to “while it lasts.” The words doused her with the cold water of reason. “No.” She walked to the door.

She was almost there when he said, “What’s wrong, Rose? Afraid to go exploring with me?”

The way he said “exploring” sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine, as if they were on a hunt for a buried treasure. The way his touch affected her, it was an apt description. “No. I’m not afraid of you, Sin.”
I’m afraid of me.

He followed her to the door and placed his hand on her cheek, her skin soft and warm beneath his fingers. “Do you feel that, Rose? How your body reacts
when I touch you?” He bent, his mouth beside her ear. “It’s the same for me. Every time you’re close, I feel
this.
” He ran his thumb over her soft lips.

She sucked her breath in, but made no effort to move away. He knew why, too. She could no more say no to their passion than he could. His body was afire, aching, yearning. God, he wanted her.

If he were to have her, he’d have to show her what he meant. Even if Aunt Margaret threw water on their passion with her chilling words, he knew how to kindle it back to a flame—with actions.

He slipped a hand about her waist and pulled her close. “Rose, being fearful of a new moment isn’t the worst thing that can happen. The worst thing is missing that moment, of letting it go by. Those moments may never come again.”

He bent to capture her lips when she raised her hands between them. “Sin, what are you doing? What do you want?”

“For us to enjoy each other and take this passion wherever it goes.” He sank his hand into her hair and tilted her face to his. “Come and enjoy life with me, Rose. Stop worrying about what may happen or not happen. You and I have already had too much of that in our lives.”

She met his gaze directly. “And then?”

He shrugged. “Then we go our separate ways, happy to have shared our lives for a short time.” He smiled down at her. “You must admit that’s a much
better ending than the one we had before.” He bent and nuzzled her neck, tasting the sweetness of her. At the touch, his body roared to life, but she was pushing him away once again.

“No, no,
no.
” She spun away and began to pace the carpet. “This is exactly what I feared would happen.”

He watched her hips sway under her gown. “What is?”

“Sin, don’t you see what’s happening? Every time we’re together, we fall into this—this mad way of doing things that rushes us toward a bad ending.”

“Being attracted to each other is bad? Enjoying the gifts life has given us is mad? If that’s madness, then I welcome it.”

“But you and I aren’t the only ones involved.” She was becoming more and more agitated, waving her arms as she talked. “We’ve got to control this, stop it. We lived through the outcome of this before and neither of us should have to go there again.”

“At one time, I thought the same.”

“At one time?” She stopped pacing to stare at him, her eyes narrowed. “You thought that very thing the day I arrived!”

“I’ve changed my mind. Now I want—”

“Oh, shush.”

He blinked. She’d
shushed
him. Never, in all of his days, had anyone shushed him. He didn’t know what to say.

“Six years ago,” Rose said, “my impulsiveness led to a kiss, that much is true. But it was
your
unchecked passion that made it so . . . ” She shook her head. “I still feel that same shock when you kiss me today. You and I are like kindling. One touch of a match and we burst into flames.”

“Which is good—”

“Which is
bad.
Do you know how short of a time kindling burns? I don’t want that, Sin. I don’t want that sort of relationship with anyone.”

He hadn’t really thought about their having a “relationship.” His smile slipped.

“Furthermore,” she continued, “you’ve made my life awkward and uncomfortable.”

“How so?” he demanded.

“Because . . . things have changed because of you. I don’t even know if I can go back to Caith Manor and be happy again.” Her smile wavered. “I used to read and ride horses and do the accounts and help my father with his horticulture. Now all I do is think about you.”

He didn’t know what to say.

She saw his indecision and her lips thinned. “Your aunt was right: engaging in such shenanigans with you is fool’s play, and I’m the fool. Well, from now on I won’t think about you
at all.
Good-bye, Sin.”

She spun on her heel and marched from the room like a victorious general, leaving him. Yes, leaving
him
. If fury were a color, the entire room would ooze red.
Without knowing why, he reached for her, catching her wrist and spinning her back to face him.

Her back stiffened. “Let me go.”

“No.”

Her eyes flashed, but just as quickly, she appeared on the verge of tears, which made his heart feel as if it had been stabbed. “Sin, what do you want?” she asked.

Damn it, he didn’t
know
what he wanted. He only knew he didn’t want to see her walking out the door. Yet his pride wouldn’t let him say that aloud. He’d be damned if he’d be that vulnerable to anyone, especially her.

And why should he? She was the one threatening to leave, not him. “You and I began this with two wagers: one on a horse race, which you won by cheating, and one on an archery contest, which I won by talent.”

Disappointment flickered over her face and she pulled her arm free of his grasp. “We are done with that.”

“We’re tied, Rose. We need one more wager to break it.” He wasn’t certain what that one more wager would accomplish, but at least it would give him more time.

“No.”

He stepped between her and the door. “You can’t leave. Not until we have a resolution.”

Her eyebrows lowered, and she attempted to walk around him.

Sin took a step toward her. He wasn’t planning to do anything rash; he just needed to get closer to her in some way. To
show
her.

Her lips firmed into a line and, with a muttered curse, she slipped past him and behind a chair. “Stop right there. I am done talking.”

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but b’God, he was going to do
something
. “Well, I’m
not.
”

She gripped the back of the chair and eyed the doorway, obviously measuring her escape route.

He picked up the chair and tossed it aside, ignoring the crash of crystal as it struck a side table and sent it and a candy dish toppling.

Rose gasped and whirled to run . . . but she made it only two steps before he caught her, swooped her up, and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
I vow, I cannot seem to walk past a window without seeing my great-nephew carrying Miss Balfour somewhere. All great romantic poems have such scenes where the hero, in a fit of passion, sweeps the heroine off her feet. Sadly, it appears that Sin’s technique is questionable.

I’m surprised that, with all of his supposed experience with the gentler sex, he doesn’t realize that women do not like to be carried in a way that musses their hair and leaves them with unattractively red faces.

Sadly, yet another conversation I shall have to have with that boy.

Rose grabbed at his coat with both hands. “Put me down!”

“No.”

“How can you— Don’t you— I’m going to— How
dare
you!” She beat on his back with her fists as he
crossed the room and threw open one of the terrace doors. “Sin, no! You can’t take me outside like this; someone will see us!”

“One benefit of my aunt’s guest list is that none of them can see a thing at a distance. Their hearing is equally poor, so feel free to yell for help.” As the cool evening air enveloped him, a drop of wetness fell on his face. He rested his hand on her backside, holding her in place when she began to kick.

“Let. Me. Down.
Now.
”

As he crossed the terrace, he lifted his face to the misty rain. He could feel her gown dampen as it thirstily soaked up the droplets. “Rain is good for the soul.”

“But not for my good shoes!”

He looked at the silk shoes, pulled them off her, and tucked them into his pockets.

“Sin—”

“Shush.” Damn, that felt good.

She gave a screech of fury and pounded on his back.

He didn’t give a damn. His temper had risen from slow simmer to boiling until he was left with one desire: he wanted Rose to be every bit as upset as she’d made him. This time
he
would be the one laughing, not her.

As he reached the end of the terrace, his gaze fell upon the small punting boats beside the lake. He smiled grimly and strode toward the water.

Rose was still struggling to free herself, so he rested his arm more tightly across her legs. “Stop squirming or I’ll drop you.”

“Fine!” she snapped, squirming all the more.

He smacked her bottom with a firm hand.

“Ow!” She stiffened and then pounded on his back with her fists. “Don’t! You! Dare!”

He chuckled, careful not to slip on the wet grass. Something moved against his coat and he looked down to find one of her curls twined about the breast pocket. Two weeks ago, he’d have sworn that Rose wasn’t a beauty in any sense of the word, but he was finding certain things about her appealing.

He was especially fond of the impertinent curls that clung to his coat even now, made him yearn to touch them. He knew they would be deliciously soft, and lively, far from the tepid silkiness of other women’s hair. Rose’s hair had a life of its own, especially now that it was damp from the misting rain. It frothed and clung, curled and twined, as if trying to tangle him up with its mistress.

She turned this way and that, trying to see where he was headed. “Where are you going? Sin, this isn’t funny! I’m going to— What are you doing?”

He’d reached the lake. With a quick heave, he bent and dumped her into one of the punts that was half in the water, the long pole held loosely in place by a large metal ring on the bow.

She scrambled for balance in the bobbing vessel, finally grabbing the sides and holding herself upright. “What are you—”

He placed his boot upon the bow and shoved the punt into the water.

“Oh! You—”
She glared as the boat scooted into the lake, raindrops pattering like tiny explosions all about her.

“You’d best grab the punting pole.”

She looked around. “The what?”

“The punting pole. It’s—” The pole fell from the ring that held it in place and dropped into the water.

Rose was now adrift in a punt, no pole in sight. The rain was quickening, too, and her gown was soaked at the shoulders. “You can’t do this.”

“I can, and I did. And now, I believe I’ll join my aunt and her guests for dinner.”

She muttered something under her breath and then scrambled to the front of the boat, where she cupped her hands and tried to paddle. But the flat-bottomed punt only turned slowly in place.

“You’re wasting your time.”

She kept paddling and the punt began to move backward a bit, away from the shoreline.

She dropped back to her heels and scowled at him, panting. “Fine. You’ve made your point.”

“Which is?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. “I have no idea.”

He crossed his arms. “You blame me for your own lack of self-control. For every kiss you’ve gotten, I’ve gotten one back. It’s a two-way street, my love. And you are not alone in fighting this attraction that flows between us.”

She met his gaze for a long moment, the only sound that of the plop of the rain upon the lake. Finally, she said, “I suppose you’re right. I don’t like feeling so . . . vulnerable.” Rain had thoroughly wet her hair and now it frothed and curled about her head like a halo.

I don’t like feeling vulnerable, either.
“Perhaps we both feel that way at times.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Perhaps. I must admit that you’ve been honest about your desires.”

He lifted a brow.
“And?”

“Oh, for the love of—” She pressed her fisted hands to her eyes. “Fine!” She looked up. “I shouldn’t blame you for all of our kisses. Some of them were my fault.”