The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (10 page)

Gabriel swallowed. He’d done a fine job of avoiding her until now. And he had no intention of allowing her to change that either.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked from the top of the circular stairs. Even to his own ears, his tone was harsh. Years of suppressed longing could do that to a man.

Miss Croft jolted upright, sending a stack of papers tumbling from the commode to the floor at her feet. She peered up at him. The lacy white trim of her neckline pulled taut over her bosom and then puckered with each rapid inhale and exhale. “I didn’t think you would be here. It wasn’t my intention to disturb anyone.”

A low grunt of disbelief sounded in his throat. How could she not disturb him? Her very presence in this manor left him on edge and made him constantly aware of where she was at any given moment.

Making his way down the stairs, he continued his study of her. While she’d been enchanting in the pale hues that debutantes wore, bolder colors gave her complexion a warm glow. In his opinion, however, she dressed too modestly now, like a matron instead of a young vibrant woman.

The cut of her gown, while leaving a lovely expanse of shoulder exposed for his admiration, only revealed the barest curve of her breasts. That supple flesh was far too enticing to keep hidden. Five years ago, the gowns she’d worn had held those creamy swells on display for him. His mouth watered, even now. If memory served, she had the faintest birthmark near the outer rim on the left side. It had been a rosy pink color, small, but in the shape of . . . in the shape of . . .
the South American continent
.

He shook his head and nearly laughed at himself.
Well, isn’t that a telling revelation?

“Disturbed,” he said more to himself than to her. “That is precisely what I am.”

She ignored his comment and bent down to straighten the fan of papers. “Montwood said that all sorts of items were brought here on occasion. I thought I might find a few of my cousin’s things that were misplaced when my aunt was here.”

Montwood, of course
. If it wasn’t Danvers, then it would have to be Montwood. Gabriel had wondered when the amber-eyed serpent would make his first move. So far, Danvers had been the only one to openly plot against him. What worried Gabriel was the fact that Montwood usually didn’t like to play by the rules.

Then again, for this wager, Gabriel didn’t plan on playing by them either. Not this time.

Gripping the iron rail and wishing it were Montwood’s throat, he descended one step at a time. When he faced Miss Croft again, he saw that she was now standing, perusing one paper after the other while holding a hand to the nape of her neck.

He stopped halfway down. “Why are you holding your neck like that?”

She turned her head with a slight wince. “I should think it obvious.”

He experienced a perverse amount of pleasure in the bite of her tone. Miss Croft was cranky. A rarity, indeed. But not without a certain appeal. Of course, since the reason was due to pain, his amusement sobered. “You’ve done too much. You should abandon this pursuit of yours.”

“Does everyone know?”
She mumbled the words, likely not realizing how well sound traveled in this room. “My pursuit is none of your concern.”

Oh, but it was. In so many ways. Surprisingly, his command was not solely for his own purpose. Certainly, he wanted her to end her pursuit of her cousin’s letter. It was better for everyone involved if that letter—not to mention Calliope’s letter—never saw the light of day. But even more than that, he didn’t want to see her in pain.

“I cannot. I have already been here for days and I am—I mean,
my cousin—
is desperate for her letter.” Her voice was as weary and bruised as the faint purplish smudges beneath her eyes. “Besides, I must do something to distract her from harp music. Poor Nell has wondrous talent, but she deserves a reprieve from her task.”

Gabriel sat down on a filigreed wrought-iron tread, unable to ignore a telltale sting of guilt. He was partly responsible for Calliope’s discomfort. Then again, perhaps a great deal more than
partly
. “There’s a pillow on the corner of the sofa. Bring it here.”

Lowering her hand from her nape, she straightened those lovely shoulders. “Is this a royal decree, or shall I stand here and wait for common courtesy? You’ll find that I am not suited for employment, other than what I give of my own free will.”

No other young woman of his acquaintance had ever been so eager to flay him with her tongue. Now, he felt as if he’d been cheated by the absence of it. In the past five years, no one had come close to challenging him the way she did. His affairs had been meaningless and lacking in substance, leaving him unfulfilled and empty. He craved more.

A futile desire, he knew. He didn’t dare sate his appetite for Calliope. Yet he couldn’t stand to see her in pain either, especially not when he knew a remedy. Surely, he could withstand temptation for a few more moments.

“There’s a pillow on the corner of the sofa, Miss Croft. I wonder if you would do me the honor of bringing it to where I am, if you please.”

“And yet you still manage to condescend to me.” She let out a sigh, not moving from her spot.

“If you would but have a moment’s patience, I am about to prove to you otherwise.”

She studied him through narrowed eyes, pursing her lips in speculation. “Patience for what, precisely?”

“Impertinent
and
impatient.” He laughed with wry humor. “What am I to do with you? Here I am, all civility and cordiality, yet you will not accept my friendship.”

She pointed to the square object covered in blue velvet, before steadily moving toward the sofa. “Is that what you are offering by way of this pillow?”

Not at all, but he could hardly confess the war between desire and reason that waged within him. “Yes,” he lied, his gaze riveted to the delicately boned hand that hovered over the pillow.

She picked it up by the corner. “Very well then, I accept.”

Gabriel’s heart rose higher in his chest. Anticipation after so many years caused it to beat madly.

Crossing the room, she kept her gaze on his, a slight smile curving her lips. That smile said to him,
I am a complete person, with or without your approval
.

How many times—and in how many ways—had he imagined such a scene unfolding? He had her undivided attention. Other than the open doors, they were alone. There were only six buttons on the back of her gown. He’d counted. Only two combs in her hair. He would like to see her cross the room to him with those buttons undone, her hair teasing her shoulders, but still wearing that smile.

Now, the wild beating of his pulse ventured decidedly lower.

Calliope stopped at the base of the stairs and held out the pillow in both hands as if presenting him with the Sovereign’s Orb. “Your pillow, my lord.”

He slipped the embroidered velvet from her grasp and placed it on the step directly below his. He spread his legs farther to allow her more room. “Do sit down, Miss Croft, if you please.”

“Sit?” She blinked in astonishment. “Surely, this was not your intention—to have me bring a pillow to you and then sit upon it.”

“With your back to me, yes.” He reached down and gave the pillow a pat. “Come along now, or you’ll have
my
patience wearing thin.”

She eyed him warily. “I am suddenly wondering at the price of your friendship.”

“You are seeing dragons where there are only dragonflies.” He tsked at her. “I know of a remedy for your sore neck; that is all.”

She shook her head to decline but then winced again. The pain must have made her think twice because she glanced down and then back up at him. “You believe you have a cure and that it involves my sitting on a pillow with my back to you.”

He held out his hand, hoping his eagerness did not show in his eyes, hoping she could not hear the heavy hammering of his pulse. “I am merely extending the hand of friendship, Miss Croft.”

With undisguised reluctance, she slipped her hand in his and placed her foot on the first tread. The coolness of her fingers did nothing to soothe the roaring heat inside of him. He drew her up a step, then two, and on the third she turned and sat.

His thighs bracketed her like bookends. The slender curve of her neck and shoulders were bared for him. A hot jolt of arousal tore through him, engorging him. As long as she didn’t lean back against the fall of his breeches, she would never know.

He placed his hands on her shoulders,
skin on skin
, and nearly groaned with unfettered pleasure.
Her
response, however, was slightly different. She stiffened. He could hear the argument before she uttered a word.

Gabriel couldn’t let her balk now. “Surely you’ve heard of the Chinese medicinal
massage
,” he said, attempting to reassure her. Yet the low hoarseness of his voice likely sounded hungry instead. Slowly, he slid his thumbs along the outer edges of the vertebrae at the base of her neck.

“I don’t believe I have,” she said, relaxing marginally, her voice thin and wispy like the fine downy hairs above her nape, teasing the top of his thumbs.

“Taoist priests have used this method for centuries.” His own voice came out low and insubstantial, as if he were breathing his final breath. As it was, his heart had all but given up trying to lure the blood away from his pulsing erection.
This was a terrible idea
.

He was immensely glad he’d thought of it.

His fingertips skirted the edge of her clavicle. Hands curled over her slender shoulders, he rolled his thumbs over her again.

Calliope emitted the faintest
oh
. It was barely a breath, but the sound deafened him with a rush of tumid desire. As if she sensed the change in him, she tensed again. “Are you trying to seduce me, Everhart?”

“If you have to ask,” he said, attempting to add levity with a chuckle, “then the answer is most likely
no
.” Yet even he knew differently. The
most likely
was said only as way of not lying to himself. He wanted to seduce her, slowly and for hours on end.

For five years he’d wanted to feel her flesh beneath his hands. For a moment this evening, he’d even thought this one touch would be enough to sate him. He hated being wrong.

Those pearl buttons called to him. He feathered strokes outward along the upper edge of her shoulder blades, earning another breathy sound. Only this time, she did not tense beneath the heat of his hands.

“I’ve read—
heard
stories,” she corrected, “where the young woman is not always certain of seduction until it is too late.”

Gabriel caught her quick slip and was not surprised. Her penchant for reading was another aspect of her character that drew him to her. Earlier today, in fact, he’d spotted her disappearing through the library doors.

Unable to control the impulse, he’d found a servant’s door off a narrow hall and surreptitiously watched her from behind a screen in the corner. Browsing the shelves, she’d searched through dozens of books. Yet her method fascinated him. She only searched the last pages of each book. When she found one she liked, she clutched it to her breast and released a sigh filled with the type of longing he knew too well. He had little doubt that she sought the certainty of a happy ending. All in all, it had taken her over an hour to find three books that met her standards. Yet instead of being bored, he’d been enthralled by every minute.

And now, here they were . . .

Under the spell of his massage, her head fell forward as she arched ever so slightly into his hands. Rampant desire coursed through him. Even so, he was in no hurry to end this delicious torment.

“I cannot imagine that a woman would not suspect an attempt of seduction in some manner.” He leaned forward to inhale the fragrance of her hair, the barest scents of rosewater and mint rising up to greet him. “Aren’t all young ladies brought up with the voice of reason clamoring about in their heads?”

His gaze followed the motions of his fingers, gliding over her silken warmth, pressing against the supple flesh that pinkened beneath his tender ministrations. He’d always wondered . . . and now he knew she felt as soft, if not softer, than any one of his dreams.

“Curiosity has a voice as well,” she said, her voice faint with pleasure. “And are we not all creatures put upon this earth to learn, just as you have learned this
exquisite
medicine?”

And sometimes curiosity could not be tamed.

It was no use. Did he truly imagine he could resist her? “Well said, Miss Croft.”

Unable to hold back a moment longer, Gabriel gave into temptation, lowered his head, and pressed his lips to her nape.

CHAPTER SEVEN

C
alliope jolted. Sitting upright, her spine snapped into place with the suddenness of an arrow hitting a target. “Did you just . . . just kiss me?”

“Kiss you?” Everhart asked from behind her, his tone a combination of amusement and disbelief. “Preposterous. You know very well that I’m merely aiding in your recuperation. Nothing untoward. My fingers are here”—he thrummed them over the upper portion of her shoulders to demonstrate—“and my thumbs are here.” He burrowed the tips in a circular motion directly into the aching knot at the base of her neck.

She tried not to moan, but a soft whimper
might
have escaped, nonetheless.

While he claimed this
medicinal massage
had been around for centuries, she knew nothing of it. Even so, she never wanted him to stop.

“I distinctly felt something that was neither thumb nor finger on the nape of my neck,” she argued, but with no force behind the words. She found it difficult to summon any censure. Her body hummed pleasantly as if his hands massaged every inch of her, instead of
merely
her shoulders.

“This accusation comes from a wealth of knowledge on your part, does it?” He altered his grip, kneading her flesh with the heels of his hands.