How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (13 page)

God, she was sweet to kiss. For a woman with a reputation
for tearing men to ribbons with her tongue, she had the softest mouth he’d ever known. He could lose himself in it so easily.

He could lose himself in
her
so easily. And that would be a mistake. The last time he’d let his cock lead him, he’d nearly ruined two people’s lives forever. So he should keep a firm clamp on his urges, not let them loose.

But how was he supposed to do that with Minerva? She shredded his control with every arch of her perfect body. Her hands were about his neck now, dislodging his hat, which went tumbling to the floor. He could feel her fingers in his hair, and it made him want her fingers in other places, doing other things . . . God save him . . .

“Intriguing as this is,” she murmured against his lips, “it won’t make me stop asking questions.”

“Are you sure about that?” He dragged his mouth down and beneath the lacy ruff at her collar to suck her neck.

“Quite sure,” she said, though she quivered beneath his lips. “I’m not . . . a flighty schoolgirl anymore.”

He drew back to stare into her beautiful green eyes. “Not for one moment of your life have you ever been flighty.”

“Then call it foolish.” She tipped up her chin. “I was too foolish to realize I was merely a moment’s amusement to you that night at the masquerade.”

The pain in her eyes made him wince. He’d hurt her more than he’d ever realized. “Not that, either.” He kissed her temple. “Just too young. And in the wrong place at the wrong time in my life.”

“A likely excuse. I haven’t been ‘too young’ for some time, and it’s taken you nine years to even kiss me again. At this rate, you’ll only advance to ravishing me when I’m forty.”

He dearly hoped he’d be ravishing her at forty. And thirty-five and twenty-nine and the day after tomorrow.

Or today. That would certainly move this process along.

“If it’s ravishment you want . . .” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he tossed her down onto it.

“What the devil!” she exclaimed. “You’ll crush my favorite bonnet!”

She started to rise, but he climbed on the bed to lie half on her, his arm manacling her waist and his leg trapping one of hers. “Oh, I plan to do more than crush your bonnet, minx.”

Her eyes sparked a warning. “Be careful, Giles. I might decide to scream.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Then you’d have a fine time explaining why you’re screaming about your ‘husband’s’ advances.” He began to work loose the frogs holding her pelisse-robe together.

When he opened it to bare the upper swells of her breasts to his gaze, she dragged in a heavy breath. “Perhaps I’ll tell the truth, then,” she said shakily, though she didn’t try to close her gown.

His pulse jumped into a frenzy. “That you’re not really my wife? That you lied about that? Let me take a room for us? Let me get you alone? I should like to hear
that
conversation.”

Warily she watched as he bent the cup of her corset down to reveal one linen-shrouded breast. His breath caught in his throat. It was every bit as pretty as he’d expected—full and pouty, with a rosy nipple that pebbled beneath his stare. He cupped the ample flesh in his hand, relishing the instant fire that flashed in her gaze.

“How clever of you . . . to make it be . . . my fault,” she breathed as he lowered his head to suck at her succulent breast through her shift and tongue her hard nipple.

She gasped but didn’t stop him.

“Shall I take the blame, then?” he rasped against the damp
linen, his throat raw with need of her. “For wanting you? For craving the taste of you? For trying to drive you as insane as you’ve been driving me?”

With a moan, she buried her fingers in his hair and urged him back to her breast. “Have I been driving you insane?” she whispered.

“You know you have.” Why was she letting him do this? Why wasn’t she protesting?

It didn’t matter. Ever since that damned Valentine’s Day ball, he’d had too many dreams where she lay beneath him, willing and eager. And now that he was living that dream, he wasn’t going to stop.

He shifted his body so he could lift her skirts. “All I’ve been able to think of ever since we danced,” he murmured, “is how I want to touch you.” He slid his hand up under her petticoats to smooth it along her stocking-clad calves. “How I want to fondle you until you cry out your pleasure.” He reached her garters and moved higher. “To plunder your soft body in ways you can’t imagine.”

Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths; her eyes were wide but not the least afraid.

She ought to be afraid. He was reaching the end of his tether. She felt so good beneath her skirts, her skin as silky and warm as rose petals kissed by the sun.

Finding the tender place between her legs, he slipped his fingers inside the slit in her drawers to touch her curls. She was hot and damp for him, and he might explode just knowing that.

When he bent his head to suck her breast again, she dragged in a harsh breath but still managed to murmur, “So tell me . . . the truth. Are you a thief? Or perhaps . . . something worse?”

At first her question didn’t register. He was too caught up in filling his hands and his mouth with her lovely flesh. When at last her words sank in, disappointment crashed through him. So
that’s
why she was letting him touch her. She thought to use her body to distract him, to get him to answer her questions.

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Clearly she didn’t know whom she was dealing with; two could play this game.

Deliberately he cupped her between the legs, enjoying how her eyes went wide in shock. “Why do you care?” he rasped. “You don’t intend to marry me anyway. So what does it matter if I’m a thief?”

Her breathing was unsteady. Good. He wanted her as unsettled as he was. “Perhaps it’s . . . simple intellectual curiosity,” she choked out.

“Like this little interlude? Is that what you’re doing with me, sweet? Satisfying your intellectual curiosity?”

He dragged his finger up her delicate cleft until he found the luscious center of her passion, then thumbed it until she let out a cry of surprise.

“Oh . . . my word . . . Giles . . .”

“Or perhaps you’re reconsidering the idea of marriage to me,” he went on. “That’s why it’s so imperative that you know my true character.”

Though she squirmed beneath him, her face growing flushed, she shook her head. “I want . . . to be left alone to . . . write my books.”

“Then you shouldn’t do things like this . . . let me touch you, taste you.”

Nor should he. Since seduction hadn’t been her purpose, he would be a true scoundrel to continue. But he was rapidly forgetting he wasn’t a scoundrel anymore. She smelled too sweet, tasted too delicious. And he wanted her too badly.

Only half-conscious of what he did, he rubbed himself against her thigh, seeking relief for the rising ache in his cock.

She blinked and grabbed his hand. “What’s that in your pocket? It’s a pistol, isn’t it? I
knew
you were up to something suspicious.”

With a laugh, he forced her hand down to his “pistol” and rubbed it along his flesh, an action that was as much pain as pleasure for him, since he knew that was
all
he would get to do. “It’s not a pistol, minx. It’s what happens to a man when a woman arouses him beyond his control. Do you understand?”

The hot color rising up her neck told him that she had caught on. “I-I didn’t realize . . . that is—”

A knock came at the door.

“Damn it all to hell,” he gritted out under his breath. “What do you want?” he called out.

His tone must have been too sharp, for there was a long pause. “My lord, if I might have a moment of your time . . .”

With a sigh, he glanced down at Minerva. “Looks like you’ve been spared for now, sweetiekins.”

Pushing off the bed, he walked slowly to the door to give his cock time to calm and her to fasten up the frogs on her pelisse-robe. He found his hat lying near the bed and put it on, then waited until she had left the bed before he opened the door. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to inform you that Mr. Plumtree is gone, my lord. So you needn’t worry about encountering him in the halls.”

“Actually, sir, we’ve decided to leave the inn ourselves,” Giles said bluntly.

“What?” he squeaked. “Why?”

“My wife doesn’t like the room.”

As if on cue, Minerva came forward. Though he could
see she was shaken, she managed a theatrical sniff. “It has an unpleasant odor, sir. And I would swear I saw a rat run under the bed.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but we do not have rats,” the innkeeper protested. “And if there’s an odor, perhaps another room—”

“Sorry, my good fellow, but we’re leaving.” Giles handed the man a number of sovereigns. “I hope this will make up for any inconvenience we’ve caused you.”

The innkeeper stared at the coins, and his eyes brightened. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

“Come, my dear,” Giles said, holding out his arm.

As she took it, he dared another glance at her. The flowers on her bonnet were a bit crushed and her clothing a little disordered, but nothing that anyone would probably remark upon. She’d been lucky. She just didn’t know how lucky.

As they headed down the stairs, he murmured, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Her gaze flew to his. “What?”

“Taunt me into losing control with you.”

“Is that what I did? I thought I merely pointed out that you’ve been rather inattentive for a man who claims to want to marry me for something other than my fortune.”

“Did you want me to be more attentive?” he asked seriously.

She wouldn’t look at him as they headed back to the curricle. “Of course not.”

“And now?”

“Do as you please. It matters nothing to me.”

Yet something had changed between them. The air that had been charged with sensual energy before fairly crackled with it now. Until today, she’d been denying that she wanted him. She no longer could.

Her tone hardened. “You gave the innkeeper an awful lot of money. And there’s that signet ring you’re wearing. Tell me, how exactly did you come by all of that?”

“Are we back to your absurd suspicions?” he growled. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that it would be difficult for me to find a fence for my goods when I’m working as an officer of the law? I’d risk exposure by any criminal who recognized me at the courthouse.”

“Then what exactly are you—”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered that you think me such a clever criminal mastermind, or insulted that you think me so devoid of good character.” He steered her through the people still milling about near the course. “Except for when I took those papers, I’m not a thief, Minerva. I swear it on my honor.” He shot her a long glance. “Unless you think me too much a scoundrel to have any honor?”

She looked embarrassed. “Well, no. But you still haven’t explained why—”

“This conversation will have to wait for later,” he murmured as he caught sight of his rig. “We have a more important problem to worry about.”

“Oh?” she said testily.

“It appears that your brothers have found us.”

She followed his gaze, then groaned.

Stoneville was sitting right in Giles’s curricle, ignoring the tiger who was holding the horses and looking panicked. Jarret and Gabe lounged on either side of the rig, and the expressions on their faces as he approached with Minerva told Giles that his reprieve from a thrashing was about to end.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Giles quipped.

Jarret’s eyes narrowed. “We spotted your rig and figured you had to be about.” He pushed away from the curricle, his expression murderous.

Minerva leaned into Giles, as if seeking his protection. It was most gratifying.

“And since you already told us you were calling on Minerva this morning . . .” Gabe continued with a threatening glare.

Stoneville leaped down from the curricle. “Her bonnet is askew. Doesn’t her bonnet look rather the worse for wear to you, Jarret?”

“Definitely. And her gown, too.”

“Not that it’s any of
your
concern,” Minerva snapped, “but my gown and my bonnet are mussed because we were hiding from Desmond.”

That brought them up short.

“Desmond was here?” Oliver asked.

“Yes. And when Mr. Masters and I saw him, we followed him to find out why. That’s how we ended up hiding in his room in the inn and nearly getting caught.”

Jarret’s gaze moved from Giles to Minerva. “Perhaps you should start from the beginning, Minerva.”

“Very well.” Quickly she launched into a brief version of their activities in the inn, though he noticed she hid the fact that Giles had broken into Desmond’s room. Instead, she told them that the door was unlocked.

How very curious. She was lying to protect him. She might have some ridiculous notion that he was a thief, but she clearly didn’t want him getting caught.

When she got to the part about their hiding behind the screen in Desmond’s room, Jarret scowled at Giles. “What were you thinking, to let her go along while you followed him?”

“
Let
her?” Giles retorted. “Clearly, you don’t know your sister very well if you think I could stop her once she decided to do something.”

“You shouldn’t have brought her here in the first place,”
Gabe pointed out with a hard stare. “For God’s sake, man, have you no—”

“I
made
him bring me here,” Minerva snapped. “Once I found out you were racing Mr. Chetwin—”

“How exactly
did
you find that out?” Gabe shot Giles an angry glance.

“Don’t look at
me,
” Giles said. “I didn’t even know about the race.”

“Freddy told me,” Minerva said. Oliver cursed under his breath. “And once I heard you were planning to run that horrible course again, the whole English army couldn’t keep me from trying to stop you. I only wish we hadn’t arrived too late.”

“I won, you know,” Gabe said with a superior smirk.

Giles rolled his eyes. That was
not
the tack to take with Minerva.

She marched up to Gabe and stabbed her finger at his chest, startling him. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up dead, you fool. What were you thinking? After that last crash, I assumed you had the sense not to risk it, but no, we drive up to find you recklessly hurtling toward the boulders . . .”