Finding Miss McFarland (7 page)

“Kindly reveal yourself,” Miss McFarland said to the room, impatience emanating from her stiff posture. “If you’d hoped to either frighten me or begin a new rumor, I can assure you that your plans are futile. If it’s money you want—”

“Has no one ever told you that money is the force that drives all evil deeds and evil-doers, Miss McFarland?”

“Mr. Croft!” She started. Her violet eyes widened as he stepped into the center of the room. Doubtless, she had no idea how those three syllables wreaked such havoc inside him. “What are you doing here?”

Gritting his teeth to control his temper and the
contract-release-contract
sensation she caused, he tugged at the square front of his waistcoat. “I might ask the same of you.”

“No. I mean here, at the Dorset ball. You were supposed to be dining with your aunt this evening.”

Ah. So then, his assumptions were correct. She
had
been purposely avoiding him.

He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace around her in a circle. “Do you have spies informing you on my whereabouts at all times or only for social gatherings?”

She watched his movements for a moment, but then she pursed those pink lips and smoothed the front of her cream gown. “I do what I must to avoid being seen at the same function with you. Until recently, I imagined we shared this unspoken agreement.”

“Rumormongers rarely remember innocent bystanders.”

She scoffed. “How nice for you.”

“Yes, and until recently, I was under the impression that I came and went of my own accord, that my decisions were mine alone. Instead, I learn that every choice I make falls beneath your scrutiny.” He was more agitated than angered, not to mention intrigued and unaccountably aroused by her admission. During a Season packed full of social engagements, she must require daily reports of his activities. Which begged the question, how often did she think of him? “Shall I quiz you on how I take my tea? Or if my valet prefers to tie my cravat into a barrel knot or horse collar?”

“I do not know, nor do I care, how you take your tea, Mr. Croft,” she said, and he clenched his teeth to keep from asking her to say his name once more. “However, since I am somewhat of an expert on fashion, I’d say that the elegant fall of the mail coach knot you’re wearing this evening suits the structure of your face. The sapphire pin could make one imagine that your eyes are blue—”

“But you know differently.”

Her cheeks went pink before she drew in a breath and settled her hand over her middle. Before he could stop the thought, he wondered if she was experiencing the
fluttering
his sister had mentioned.

“You are determined to be disagreeable. I have made my attempts at civility, but now I am quite through with you. If you’ll excuse me . . .” She started forward to leave.

He blocked her path, unable to forget what he’d heard when he first arrived. “I cannot let you go without a dire warning for your own benefit.”

“If this is in regards to what you overheard—when you were eavesdropping on a
private matter
—I won’t hear it.”

He doubted she would listen to him if he meant to warn her about a great hole in the earth directly in her path either, but his conscience demanded he speak the words nonetheless. “Montwood is a desperate man, and you have put yourself in his power.”

Her eyes flashed. “
That
is where you are wrong. I am the one with the fortune; ergo, the one with the power.”

How little she knew of men. “And what of your reputation?”

Her laugh did nothing to amuse him. “What I have left of my reputation will remain unscathed. He is not interested in my person. He only needs my fortune. In addition, as a second son, he does not require an heir; therefore, our living apart should not cause a problem with his family. And should he need
companionship
, he is free to do so elsewhere, as long as he’s discreet.”

“You sell yourself so easily, believing your worth is nothing more than your father’s account ledger,” he growled, his temper getting the better of him. He’d never lost control of it before, but for some reason, this tested his limits. If
he
could see she was more than a sum of wealth, then
she
should damn well put a higher value on herself. “If you were my sister, I’d lock you in a convent for the rest of your days.”

Miss McFarland stepped forward and pressed the tip of her manicured finger in between the buttons of his waistcoat. “I am
not
your sister, Mr. Croft. And thank the heavens for that gift too. I can barely stand to be in the same room with you. You make it impossible to breathe, let alone think. Neither my lungs nor my stomach recalls how to function. Not only that, but you cause this terrible crackling sensation beneath my skin, and it feels like I’m about to catch fire.” Her lips parted, and her small bosom rose and fell with each breath. “I do believe I loathe you to the very core of your being, Mr. Croft.”

Somewhere between the first
Mis-ter Croft
and the last, he’d lost all sense.

Because in the very next moment, he gripped her shoulders, hauled her against him, and crushed his mouth to hers.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

F
or the first time in her life, Delaney stood perfectly still.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink her eyes.

This couldn’t be happening. Griffin Croft wasn’t kissing her. He wasn’t lifting her to her toes in the middle of the conservatory, just steps away from the crush of the Dorset ballroom.

And yet . . . he
was
.

His warm, hard mouth slanted over hers. Wondrously heated breaths flared from his nostrils, igniting the air between them. Where his chin pressed into hers, she could feel the tiniest unshaven whiskers inside the deepest part of his cleft. Her breasts flattened hard against his chest, and the pounding of his heart felt like a fist threatening to break through a door. Only
she
was that door. Down the center of her back, his hand roamed. Fingers splayed, he touched every rib and vertebra as if committing her skeleton to memory. His exploration continued until that hand settled into the dip just above the rise of her derriere. And then, he drew her even closer.

If she’d worn stays, she was certain she wouldn’t be able to feel the buttons of his waistcoat. Wouldn’t be able to feel her nipples harden, sprouting to life beneath the layers of fine linen and silk.

The crackling that possessed her every time Griffin Croft was near burned hotter than before. Instead of pinpricks of heat, tiny flames licked over her flesh, threatening to char every inch. This time, she didn’t mind in the least.

“Open for me,” he growled against her lips, tilting up her chin.

It was only when she felt his other hand teasing the underside of her jaw that she realized he was no longer the one keeping her up on her toes. Well, not entirely. The hand nestled into her lower back was doing a fair job of holding her against him. Yet the arms she’d twined around his neck were doing the rest.

Impulsively curious, she did as he bade, wondering what new sensations would unfold. His staggered breath puffed against the damp underside of her lips. In that moment of hesitation, she opened her eyes, having no idea when they’d drifted closed.

What she saw in his gaze stole the last remaining breath from her lungs. It, too, came out staggered. Brown and blue colors swirled together in that beautiful lake water she’d noticed only days ago, but what she hadn’t noticed was how it seemed to churn and undulate beneath the surface, as if coming to a slow simmer. The heat of it was so potent she could almost touch it with her fingertips, sure they would come back blistered.

What startled her most of all was how his gaze seemed to reflect everything inside of her.

Suddenly, she wanted to push away. “Mr. Croft, I—”

A low sound tore from his throat as he captured her mouth again. His tongue swept inside, tangling with hers, teasing her enough to follow, to taste, to traverse the ridges and valleys of teeth and palate, leaving nothing unexplored. She knew the flavor of him now. Swallowed the essence of him—the tang that was slightly salty, slightly sweet, and more pleasant than she could have ever guessed.

Wanting more of this elixir, her hands found the back of his head and drew him closer. His soft wavy hair was cool at the tips but blazing with heat at his scalp. She slanted her mouth over his in the opposite direction. This time, she nudged
his
lips apart. She sought his tongue, butting up against his in a sudden frenzy of need that sent a swift jolt of warning through her.

Something within her had awakened. Something that fed off kisses and burned with an intensity she’d never known.

Something that threatened the life she wanted for herself.

Suddenly, she broke away from him, giving his shoulders a little shove in the process. He released her instantly and stared down at his hands as if they alone were the culprits of this whole affair.

“Miss McFarland,” he said, his breathing labored, his broad shoulders straining against the impeccably tailored tailcoat. “I want you to know that I had no intention of kissing you when I came in here. In fact, my thoughts were centered solely on making sure you understood the dangers of being alone with a man.”

She recoiled. His words were like a slap, and one hard enough to shake the last of the fog from her mind. Only now did she realize what a fool she’d been. He’d had no intention of kissing her . . . as if the mere idea were abhorrent to him. For a moment, she’d actually thought he’d found her desirable—not her fortune but her person, her entire being—so much so that he couldn’t help himself. And she’d responded in kind.

Hearing the truth wounded her pride more than she thought it could. “I’m ashamed to admit how well you’ve made your point, Mr. Croft.”

He shook his head, plowing a hand through his hair. “What I meant to say was—”

“I’m sure in our limited acquaintance we’ve both intended for each of our encounters to unfold differently. Let’s simply add this to our list of disasters, shall we?” She smoothed the front of her gown and hoped she didn’t look as wrinkled as she felt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to return to the ballroom before our names are once again joined in scandal.”

As she passed, he reached out and grasped her arm. “I was speaking of Montwood. He’s not to be trusted. And if his creditors see him driving in the park with you, they’ll soon find a way to make him truly desperate. All I ask is that you take that under consideration.”

“While I appreciate your unsolicited advice, what I do or
do not do
with Lord Montwood is none of your concern.” She cast him a withering glare. “Now, if you’ll unhand me, I’ll bid you farewell.”

He released her at once.

Delaney held her head high as she walked out of the conservatory. She only wished she didn’t feel so cold inside.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

“S
even and twenty,” George Croft said to his son, adding a whistle at the end. This morning, they sat alone in the curricle for his father’s first outing in over a fortnight. “By this age, I’d been married four years and widowed one.”

Griffin kept the reins steady in his grip and stared straight ahead to the park’s path. This was his father’s not-so-subtle way of reminding him of his duty to find a bride—and soon. “I’m attending every event my schedule will allow. Unfortunately, this year is far too much like the last.” Aside from one night—the night of
the incident
—the previous Season had been tedious at best. Worse yet, the highlight of
this
Season had been a stolen moment in the Dorsets’ conservatory the night before last with the same damnable woman.

“Then perhaps you aren’t attending the right events. I know she’s out there.” His father slapped his hand across his knee. “Why, if it hadn’t been for a change in my schedule, I’d never have met your mother. Three years I’d waited to remarry, waited to find the right one. The one that stood out from the rest. Then it was like a curtain parted . . . and there she was.”

At his father’s words, Griffin hoped his imagination would conjure a vision of his future bride, pointing him toward the right path. The only thing
he
saw was a peculiar swath of flame bright red obscuring his view.

It must be the sun shining against his eyelids.

“Of course, I want you to find love or at least a woman you can stand,” his father added, now with a pat on Griffin’s shoulder, “but a healthy woman, not like my first wife. Prudence was a pretty little thing but perhaps too young and far too delicate. Miscarried three babes before she went off to heaven to be with them, rest her soul.”

Last year, Griffin had been asked to find the love of his life. This year, he was asked to find a healthy woman he could stand.

Under other circumstances, he’d laugh. However, he knew the importance of finding a bride. At fifty-seven, his father’s health was fading. The only way for Griffin to give him peace of mind was to find a wife and quickly issue a male heir upon her. That way, if an accident or early demise should befall
him
, his wife, children, mother, and sisters would be well provided for and not at the mercy of a distant cousin.

He exhaled a deep breath, feeling a weight pressing against him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the desire to marry. Even before his father’s cousin—his great-uncle’s heir—had died of consumption, he’d thought about it. Though before that and before his father had his first heart seizure, it had seemed unlikely that Griffin would inherit. There’d been no rush. He’d simply been waiting for the curtain to part and reveal his future bride.

Now, it was a matter of great urgency, and he couldn’t find one suitable woman who kindled his interest.

“What about that Miss McFarland?” his father asked, startling him. “I realize after the mishap last year that any acquaintance with her is unlikely. As I recall, it caused quite the stir. On the other hand, your mother said she was a charming girl, though not necessarily pretty.”