Kathryn Smith (14 page)

Rachel was behind them, one gloved hand on the banister as she kept her gaze fastened on her mother’s back. She looked nervous.

Brave was glad for the darkness surrounding him, enabling him to feast his eyes on her without her being aware. Otherwise, she would catch him gaping at her like a silly schoolboy.

Lord, but she was beautiful! In the golden light, her bare shoulders glowed like ivory, her hair like the palest gold. Her eyes were dark and fathomless in her angelic face.

The gown fit her to perfection, emphasizing every curve of her figure without flaunting her luscious shape. The color was perfect for her, almost perfectly matching the stones around her neck. He’d chosen well. The fashionably low
neckline revealed the tops of her creamy breasts, while the high waist pushed them against the shimmering silk. The narrow skirt fell past her ankles and brushed against her legs as she moved. From where he stood, he could make out the outline of her long thighs, the curve of her generous hips and gently rounded belly…

“For God’s sake, breathe man!” hissed a voice in his ear.

Brave did. His lungs expanded greedily. He hadn’t been aware that he had been holding his breath as he watched his fiancée ascend.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Brave asked, stepping out of the shadows as she neared the landing where he and Gabriel were hidden.

“She’s a very pretty girl,” Gabriel allowed.

Brave frowned at him. “You think I’m too excessive in my compliments?”

The darker man shook his head. “I have no doubt that you find her as incredible as you say.”

Shrugging, Brave stepped out to meet her. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.”

“Yes,” Gabriel murmured, trailing behind him with a worried frown. “And in the heart.”

“Sir Henry, Lady Marion, good evening.”

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat when Brave stepped out of the shadows to greet them. She’d been so intent on placing one foot in front of the other and not stepping on her hem that she hadn’t noticed him standing at the top of the stairs.

Had there ever been a man more magnificent than he? Tall and long-limbed, with wide shoulders and slender hips, he looked like a Greek sculptor’s ideal. Only his stark black evening clothes—no different from what most men of his station wore—belied his mortal status. Even then, Rachel was convinced that there was no other man in attendance who did as much justice to those evening clothes as Brave did.

His chocolate brown eyes were void of their usual sobriety; instead they shone with something that set her insides fluttering with anticipation. Something warm and erotic.

“Good evening, Rachel.” His voice was just as seductive as his gaze.

Insides fluttering, Rachel managed a smile. “Good evening, my lord.”

He offered her his arm. “May I?”

There were many layers of fabric between them, but Rachel could have sworn she could feel the heat and muscled hardness of his forearm beneath her palm. What would it feel like without all that clothing between them?

Her cheeks flushed, she glanced over at her fiancé, hoping he would not be able to discern the shameful nature of her thoughts.

Lord, but he was looking at her as though he’d like to devour her right there on the carpet! A shiver raced through her, tightening her nipples and pooling between her legs with an aching throb. She was less embarrassed by her reaction to him now and more anxious to do something about it. One of the few consequences of this marriage she even allowed herself to think about was the wedding night. She wanted him, and there was no point in lying to herself about it.

They stepped into the ballroom and suddenly a deafening chorus of applause and cheers rose up around them. The sensual spell Brave had woven around her was broken as Rachel’s gaze fell upon at least a hundred familiar smiling faces.

Now she knew how a bride-to-be should feel. Under the watchful stares, she felt nervous, special, and yes, even beautiful. But the most beautiful part of the evening had to be the fairyland spread out before her.

Brave had obviously spared no expense, despite the fact that their marriage was a sham. Thousands of flowers in shades of white, pink, and lilac filled the ballroom. Delicate
blue-and-lavender shades had been fashioned around several of the chandeliers, bathing the people beneath in a soft pastel glow. Shimmering silks draped the walls and ceiling, and dozens of footmen dressed in the Wycherley livery of pale blue and gold carried trays laden with champagne as they threaded their way through the sea of guests.

Rachel was struck speechless. She’d never seen anything quite so grand.

The orchestra immediately began to play, and Brave pulled away. For a moment, Rachel panicked. He couldn’t just leave her there to face all those people! But then he held out his hand.

“May I have the honor of this dance?” His dark gaze enveloped her, drawing her into its fathomless depths.

Rachel could not have resisted even if she wanted to. She placed her hand in his. Could he feel the dampness of her palm through her glove? Would he instinctively know about the moist heat swirling low in her belly?

What was it about this man that made her want to toss everything she had been taught, everything she had worked for, to the wind? At that moment she was certain she would forsake even her own mother to feel those long fingers on her naked flesh.

He led her out onto the middle of the floor. All eyes watched as he took her into his arms. Did they notice her start when his hand settled on the small of her back? Did they wonder why her lips parted in a silent exclamation as her hand slid up his chest to his shoulder?

Rachel stopped caring what they thought the moment her gaze locked with his. For that matter, her heart stopped too.

“Rachel,” he said softly, holding her so close she could feel the heat of his thighs against hers through the cool silk of her gown. “I do believe you are the most beautiful woman here tonight. And before you accuse me of playing to your ego, let me assure you that I would think that even if you were not my fiancée.”

His teasing smile—the closest she’d seen him come to a real smile—was infectious, and Rachel found herself smiling back, relieved that the tension between them had eased.

“Thank you, Brave. Allow me to return the compliment and say that you are without a doubt the most extraordinary gentleman I have seen this evening.”

He quirked a brow. “With the possible exception of your stepfather, of course.”

Rachel laughed. “Of course. Sir Henry is quite the Incomparable.” Her expression sobered. “I hear you are to be thanked for the money to purchase his latest ensemble.”

He shook his head, but did not attempt to deny it. Rachel wasn’t certain how to react to his honesty. One part of her didn’t like being sold like a mare at auction. Another part of her warmed at the thought of Brave paying to marry her. After all, he was helping her gain her mother’s freedom. All he was getting out of the bargain was an agreeable wife.

“I’d prefer to take no blame for his latest shopping spree, although I may very well be responsible. He made it very clear he would not let you go without payment.”

The bastard.
“How much did you give him?”

His gaze darkened. “You need not concern yourself with that.”

Indignation coursed through her veins. “Don’t tell me such nonsense!” she hissed, gazing about to make certain no one had heard. “I have every reason to concern myself with it.”

“And are you going to stomp your foot and pout if I refuse?” he inquired, his voice low with amusement.

Rachel could not prevent the smile that crossed her face. Nor could she stop herself from chuckling at her own behavior. “Quite possibly, yes.”

He whirled her around, causing her to squeal with delight. “Then we will discuss it—but not here. Not tonight, and I shall be certain to wear a pair of thick boots.” He smiled at her. It was still one of those little half smiles, but different.
This one actually reached his eyes. Rachel could not help but beam back.

“How can I ever thank you for your kindness?” She didn’t even know if such a thing was possible. Had he any idea just what he had done for her and her mother? Any idea how much it meant to her?

“Helping you get out from underneath Sir Henry’s control is payment enough as far as I am concerned,” he replied. “Besides, I’m not totally without something to gain.”

She ignored that, knowing that he could have had his pick of any woman in the village. “You have no idea how much it means to me that my mother may be able to start a new life without my stepfather in it.” Gratitude burned the back of her eyes with hot tears. “Indeed, I don’t even want to think about what might have become of her if you hadn’t made your generous offer.”

His gaze locked with hers, and there was a tenderness there she hadn’t seen before. A tenderness that both thrilled and frightened her.

“Rachel, I must confess that when I made my offer, I was thinking of you and you alone. I wouldn’t have been able to face myself in the mornings if I’d stood by and watched Sir Henry marry you off to a man like Charlton, knowing what both he and Sir Henry are capable of.”

Rachel didn’t know what to say. This man hardly knew her, and yet it was if they were bound by something much bigger than either of them. Some force had drawn her to seek his help just as something drove him to give it.

“I know how proud you are,” he continued. “The fact that you trusted me with your problem, and accepted my help, means more to me than I can say.”

Rachel could only stare at him. He had given her a glimpse inside him, through the sadness that wrapped around him like a cloak, to the pain at the very center of it all. He’d been hurt in the past, dreadfully so. No woman, no matter
how strong her resolve, or how desperate her mission, could ignore wanting to touch a man’s heart when it was so bared.

She was very much in danger of losing her own heart to him if she was not careful. Would that be sufficient payment for all that he had done for her?

And would she ever be able to get it back?

Where the devil was she?

More than a little annoyed, and a touch worried, Brave crossed the floor toward the balcony doors. He had searched everywhere he could think of for his fiancée but to no avail. The last time he had seen her she’d been dancing with Gabriel, but that was at least half an hour ago. Had she forgotten that she had promised him the next waltz?

Stepping out into the night air, he wondered why he hadn’t checked the balcony sooner. The breeze was chilly, but much welcome after the stifling atmosphere of the ballroom, and the air was sweet and crisp, without a trace of wax, sweat or heavy perfume.

He leaned his forearms against the marble balustrade, closing his eyes in pleasure as the breeze lifted the moisture from his brow. This reprieve was just what he needed after the stress of the evening.

Too bad he hadn’t been out there during his meeting with Rachel. The cold air would have combated the fire that swept through him as he met her lavender-blue gaze. He could have sworn that she had eyed him just as hungrily as he had her. He even thought he saw her nipples tighten beneath the thin silk of her gown.

He took a deep breath as his groin began to tighten. He shouldn’t be thinking about it. He didn’t want to dwell on how tempting it had been to slide his hand down toward her buttocks while they danced, to press himself against her ripe softness…

“I thought we were supposed to have the next dance?”

He smiled at the annoyance in her voice. It was decidedly an indignant-lover voice, and it warmed him to hear her use it. Why, he didn’t want to consider.

“We were,” he replied, turning to face her. “But I couldn’t find you.”

“Obviously not since I was inside and you were out here shirking your responsibilities as host.”

“Shirking?” She was teasing, the smile on her face was proof enough of that.

She moved to stand directly in front of him. In the moonlight, she was Titania, the fairy queen, and he was awed by the cool and ethereal beauty of her.

“I can hear the music,” she said softly. “Could we not dance out here?”

“Perhaps we should go inside,” he replied, not sure of the wisdom of dancing in the dark with her. It would be far, far too easy to lose sight of things. “You must be cold.”

She reached out, took his hand in hers and placed it on her waist. Stepping closer, she clasped his other hand in hers. They were in the waltz position.

She smiled. “The dancing will keep me warm.”

He arched a brow at her bold behavior. “And would you like to lead as well?”

Rachel laughed, tilting her head back and exposing the long column of her throat and the swell of her breasts to his hungry gaze. He could lower his head and fasten his mouth to her white flesh, and she would be in no position to fight him.

“Spin me,” she commanded, her head still thrown back.

He did. “How much have you had to drink?”

Stumbling to a stop, Rachel lifted her head and swayed unsteadily in his arms. “A lot. I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you should sit down.” The last thing he wanted was her casting her accounts all over his shoes.

She stepped closer, tightening her hold on his hand and
shoulder as though she thought he would thrust her away. “You promised me a dance.”

Had she been any other woman, Brave would have pushed her away. He would have steered her toward the nearest chair and left her there to come to her senses, but this was Rachel and the feel of her body pressed against his was every bit as intoxicating as it was dangerous.

It was either dance with her or make love to her, so Brave began to dance. Rachel laughed in pleasure. The sound of it tugged viciously at his heart. Joy. He had given her joy, and the knowledge of it seemed to lift the weight of a thousand guilty consciences off his shoulders.

She kept asking how she could thank him. How could he thank her? Since she’d entered his life, he’d felt like he had a purpose. Every day with her gave him part of his old life back, gave him back part of himself. Even Phelps and all his theories and books hadn’t been able to do that.