Kathryn Smith (5 page)

“I am, thank you.” He stared into her wide eyes, searching the purple-blue depths for some hint that this tension he felt between them wasn’t just madness. He found nothing but uncertainty.

“My evening would be all the more enjoyable if you would condescend to dance with me.” What was he doing? He hadn’t danced for two years and now he was going to do it twice in one evening? The gossips would be wagging their tongues for a week. He would become known as a man who only danced with those no one else would dance with, and Rachel, once their jealousy wore off, would be laughed at for being another one of his charity cases.

Though his reasons for wanting to hold her were far, far from charitable.

“Lord Braven, I—” His grip on her fingers tightened. She faltered, her mouth working silently. “I would be delighted.”

It was all he could do not to sigh in relief. He led her to the dance floor and, lifting their entwined fingers high, placed his other hand lightly on the small of her back. The urge to haul her against him, pressing his hips deep into hers,
was overpowering. As it was he held her closer than what was proper.

“I am pleased to see that you have not suffered any ill effects from your accident the other night,” he commented as they twirled around the floor. She was extremely graceful.

“None,” she replied, gazing earnestly at him. “I think I have your quick thinking to thank for that.”

Brave smiled ruefully. “Then perhaps I should apologize.”

Rachel frowned, puckering the skin between her delicately winged brows. “Apologize?”

He nodded. “I would think a case of ague would be most beneficial in avoiding attending this evening.”

The instant the words left his mouth he regretted them. The color drained from her face and her eyes become flat and expressionless.

“And deny them the pleasure of laughing behind my back?” Her voice was laced with bitter humor. “I quite thrive on their pity, Lord Braven. I assure you it is the one thing in my life I’ve come to take for granted. In fact, a day just doesn’t feel right if I have to go without.”

He felt the full sting of her words. He’d angered her, shamed her by bringing it up. It was badly done.

“You’ve done nothing to deserve their pity.” It was as close as he could bring himself to an apology. An apology would take away from her resentment, and she had every right to it.

A wry smile curved her wide lips. “No, but my mother did by marrying a man as worthless as Westhaver, and that makes my situation all the more pitiable because I had no control over it.” She shrugged, causing the fabric of her gown to slide against his hand. “It does have its advantages when the whole village feels sorry for you. That’s why you asked me to dance, isn’t it?”

Her gaze challenged him to deny it. By lumping him in with the rest of the town she could continue on with this
strange self-punishment. She could continue to believe she was alone, friendless. She didn’t strike him as a martyr, but she seemed to feed off the very social exile he feared. It gave her strength.

“Actually, I asked you to dance because you were the only woman in the room that didn’t look at me as though she’d like to cosh me over the head and carry me off to the parson.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then she burst out laughing as though he’d just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard. The deep, body-shaking resonance of her laughter was contagious, and Brave was shocked when a hesitant, awkward smile curved his own lips. It had been so long since he’d made someone laugh—so long since he’d felt like laughing himself.

Lost in the wonder that he had created that sparkle in her eyes, it took a few seconds for Brave to realize when she stopped laughing. When he finally did, it was to find her regarding him with an expression so warm and open it thrilled him straight to his toes.

Oh yes, she was dangerous.

Aware that they were under the scrutiny of all those watching the dancing, Brave steered her farther into the protective circle of the other dancers. This dance had suddenly become a very private, intimate moment for him, and he didn’t want to share it with the gossips.

She smiled at him. “Thank you for reminding me that I shouldn’t feel so sorry for myself. I’d forgotten that everyone has their own problems.”

Brave whirled her around. “Just so long as you don’t now feel sorry for me, you’re welcome.”

Chuckling, she tilted her head to one side and regarded him through impossibly thick eyelashes. “You’re not the kind of man who inspires sorriness, Brave. Sympathy, perhaps, but never pity.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that—and especially not to her use of his nickname—and so he said nothing.

When the music ended, they were poised beside the balcony doors, and, as a handful of other couples made their way out into the crisp night air, Brave suggested they do the same. He hadn’t taken a young woman out onto a balcony since Miranda, and he wasn’t quite sure why he was doing it now. He only knew he didn’t want this moment to end so soon.

“I feel compelled to warn you,” Rachel said as she laid her hand on his arm, “that our going outside is only going to fan the flames of gossip.”

“What flames?”

She smiled coyly. “Rumor has it that the reason you attended tonight was to begin a search for a bride.”

“Damn,” he muttered between clenched teeth. Just his luck. If he’d remained a recluse, they’d gossip about that, too.

Rachel laughed at his ungentlemanly outburst. “Relax, my lord. No one would even dare entertain the idea that you might consider me a candidate for countess.”

“You’d make a better countess than any of those…those
children
I’ve had thrown in my path this evening.” They stepped up to the balustrade, and Brave realized that they were, in effect, completely alone. Many of the other couples had gone down into the garden, or had gone off to darker corners. If he pushed her into the potted plants behind them, they’d be completely hidden. He could kiss her, and no one would be the wiser.

Now, where in the name of God had that thought come from?

Bracing her arms on the railing, Rachel smiled like a fairy queen in the moon-silvered darkness. “I imagine you are quite popular with the single ladies now that you have entered back into society.”

Brave rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately. It does have a tendency to make one feel like a fox being chased by hounds.”

“A decidedly unkind analogy, my lord,” she chastised with a grin. “No matter how accurate it might be.”

He looked down. “You called me Brave earlier. I liked it.”

Silence as his heart drummed out the seconds.

“All right.”

Turning to face her, Brave leaned against the cool stone and folded his arms across his chest. “How accurate do you think?”

She raised a pale brow and flashed him a teasing grin. He didn’t need to explain. “Very. They all believe you’ll find a bride in London during the Autumn Season, so they’re hoping to catch your eye before you fall prey to all those town ladies.”

Brave snorted. “I don’t want a town lady.”

“A country bride then?” Again that teasing smile that made him want to kiss her until he’d filled himself with her. What did she have to be so lighthearted about?

“I’m not looking for a bride at all.”

“No?” She seemed surprised by his confession. “How extraordinary. We’re in exactly the same predicament. You don’t want a wife, I don’t want a husband, and no one seems to care.”

She’d summed it up quite succinctly.

“Then there is only one logical conclusion,” he announced.

Her face glowed with humor. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Our only escape is to marry each other and enjoy a marriage of convenience.” He was only half joking, a realization that gripped him with sudden horror. No marriage was convenient, especially not for him. Was he that desperate for the promise of female flesh he’d marry for it?

Mad. He was truly mad.

Rachel didn’t look at him as though he were mad. She looked at him as though he’d said something hilarious. Brave allowed himself a chuckle of relief as she started laughing. He ignored the strange sense of disappointment her amusement brought with it.

“Oh, Brave, thank you!” She wiped tears from her eyes with her gloved fingertips.

“For what?” He wasn’t certain he wanted to know.

She sniffed and smiled at him. The urge to kiss her was overpowering. “For saving my life. For asking me to dance when few others would, and for making me laugh. I needed that.”

Her open gaze unnerved him and he shrugged. “It becomes you. You should laugh more often.”

“Odd. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

His heart twisted suddenly beneath his ribs, and he stepped away as she lifted her hand to his cheek. He’d toss what control he had left to the wind if she touched him.

Disappointment clouded her features as she dropped her arm. “I’m sorry.”

Knowing he was responsible for that expression cut Brave to the quick. He shook his head and took another step back. If he were smart, he’d leave her there. Now.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Rachel.”

A tiny frown creased her brow, and she stepped toward him. “For what?” Her lips parted in confusion, and Brave could only imagine how he must look to her. If half of what he felt showed on his face, she had a right to look confused.

And every reason to run screaming.

But she didn’t run, and Brave reached out and grabbed her little hand in his own. “For this,” he growled. He pulled her into the blackness behind the plants.

And then he kissed her.

C
ool, hard stone pressed against her back.

Warm, hard man pressed against her front.

With her arms held high above her head, and her body pinned by Brave’s, Rachel was completely powerless against the knee-weakening power of his kiss. It was perhaps the first time in her life that she didn’t mind not being in control.

His lips were firm and warm yet undeniably soft as they moved against hers. Rachel followed his lead, breathless as his mouth teased her lips apart. Anticipation pebbled her flesh in the chill night air. She shivered as parts of her body tightened in response and others melted into wanton submission. A hardness pressed against her hip, and lifting herself on her toes, Rachel pressed back, gasping as her movements heightened the throbbing low in her pelvis and brought an answering groan from Brave.

Music from the ballroom, muted and faint against the sounds of their breathing, drifted around them. It was as
though the rest of the world had faded into the background, leaving only the two of them and this wondrous heady kiss!

The pressure of his mouth increased with the pressure of his hips. Rachel’s lips had no choice but to open beneath his, tasting champagne on the dampness of his breath.

Oh dear God! Was that his tongue? Opening her mouth to his exploration, Rachel sank deeper and deeper into a world where nothing existed but sense and sensation. A place where it was becoming more and more difficult to ascertain where her body stopped and Brave’s began, so desperately were the two trying to become one. The pressure between her thighs intensified, blocking out all reason until only instinct ruled—and instinct demanded to be satisfied.

She used to scoff at those young women who’d been stupid enough to give themselves up to temptation, and allowed themselves to be ruined by a man. Now, she found herself all too willing to risk sharing their fate if it meant following this moment to its inevitable conclusion. She’d be all too willing to let this man ruin her.

And she didn’t think being ruined would be such a horrible experience. Not with Brave.

And then he was gone, and where there had been heat there was only chill, and where there had been the sweet coercion of his body there was nothing but bewildered loss.

Still against the wall, Rachel felt as though she’d been thrust through a portal into another time and place. Gone was the beautiful world she and Brave had created, replaced by the cold reality they had left. A spell had been broken, and its magic left her wanting more.

Lowering her arms, she winced at the pain in her shoulders and took a hesitant step toward the man who had promised her so much and then taken it all away.

“Well,” she said, her voice strained in an attempt at humor. “That was…
interesting
.”

He raised his head to meet her gaze. She’d been prepared
to see regret in his eyes, perhaps even embarrassment, but she wasn’t prepared for the sheer horror—or was it anguish?—she saw in the depths of his dark eyes.

“Rachel, I’m…I’m very sorry.”

It was like a slap with a cold hand. Quickly, the fire of desire was replaced with cold indignation. That was it? He made her insides melt and he was
sorry
?

“Sorry for what, Brave? For kissing me? Or for making me like it? Or maybe you’re sorry for liking it yourself?”

He stared at her, confusion replacing the wretchedness in his expression. “Well…all three I suppose.”

Clenching her hands into fists, Rachel fought the urge to clock him with one. “What a gentleman you are, Brave. I suppose I’m expected to thank you for your remorse?”

He obviously hadn’t been expecting sarcasm. “I stopped, didn’t I? I didn’t have to.
You
certainly weren’t offering any resistance.”

Rachel’s face flamed with embarrassment at his reminder of her abandoned behavior. “So you do want me to thank you then.”

Tossing his hands into the air, Brave laughed humorlessly. “No, I don’t want you to thank me! Damn it, Rachel, I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

“What I
want
,” she ground out, moving toward him, “is for you to tell me you were caught up in the moment, or that you were overcome by the moonlight reflected in my eyes, or perhaps that you just couldn’t resist me any longer.” She stopped in front of him and poked a finger in his chest hard enough to make him grunt.

“What I
don’t
want, you big lout, is to be told you’re sorry! God! Do you have an idea how that makes a woman feel?”

Obviously he didn’t, because he stood there staring at her as if she was totally insane. Then something that sounded very much like strangled laughter burst from his lips.

“What?”

Shaking his head, Brave leaned against the railing, turning his body toward her. Rachel had to keep her eyes focused on his face to keep from sneaking a peek at that part of him that had, just minutes ago, been pressed so intimately against her.

“Most women would have proclaimed to be outraged by my behavior. Some would have even demanded I marry them, and most would have demanded an apology whether they believed I meant it or not. You, all you want is for me to say that I’m
not
sorry.”

It did sound like bizarre reasoning when he put it that way. She glanced away. “It’s hurtful to a woman’s confidence to hear a man say he regrets kissing her.”

Brave nodded. “Then I have to be honest with you, Rachel. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Rachel’s heart fell against her ribs.

“But I’m not sorry for it at all.”

Unable to totally suppress the urge to grin like an idiot in relief, Rachel smiled. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Oh, but the rest of him had been.

He gave one of those half smiles of his. It was like his smile had been broken and he hadn’t been able to fix it. She wasn’t sure why it struck her that way, but it did. What had broken his smile? A woman, perhaps? The idea of any woman having the power to hurt him like that was something Rachel didn’t want to think about. It made her angry in ways she couldn’t explain.

“Let’s just put it behind us,” she suggested.

He raised a brow. “Say we were overcome by the moon and stars?”

Her grin grew. “And the magic of the moment.”

“Sounds good to me.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go back in?”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t think we should go back inside together. People might talk.” And Rachel didn’t want the gossips to link her with Brave. Everyone knew how shab
bily Sir Henry treated her mother and herself. She didn’t want them thinking she was setting her cap at Brave and his fortune. And, she certainly didn’t want to hear them pitying her for being fool enough to do so.

And more importantly, she didn’t want
him
to hear them pity her.

He nodded in consent. “You’re right, of course. I’ll see you inside?”

“Of course.” But the minute he was gone, Rachel turned and leaned her forehead against a tall, stone post in the balustrade.

She’d just been thoroughly kissed by one of the most stunning examples of manly perfection she’d ever known, and now that she knew he
wasn’t
sorry for kissing her, she had to keep herself from making too much of it, or wondering why he’d done it.

So much of her wanted to believe he was attracted to her. What normal woman wouldn’t? But Rachel knew too much about men to allow herself such a fantasy. Weren’t men the sex that frequented brothels and
paid
to bed women they didn’t even know, let alone love? Certainly if a man could do something like that, he was capable of kissing a woman he didn’t even like.

David had claimed to love her, and that hadn’t stopped him from leaving.

Not that Brave didn’t like her. He seemed to like her well enough, but Rachel wasn’t foolish or naive enough to believe he’d fallen in love with her. And she certainly wasn’t in love with him. Despite what the poets said, there was no such thing as falling instantly in love with a person. True that ever since the night Brave had rescued her Rachel had thought of little else but him, but wasn’t that normal? He was an attractive man, and he had saved her life. It was very easy, and only natural, to have romantic fantasies about him. It might even be natural to suspect that he would have fantasies about
her in return, but it wasn’t natural, blast it all, to dwell on it as though she didn’t have more important things to worry about!

She should be ashamed of herself for daydreaming about a man when she should be concentrating on finding a way to keep Sir Henry from marrying her off to one of his cronies. In only a few months she would have her money, and if worse came to worst, she would do whatever was necessary to get her mother out of that house and away from the monster she’d married. It was the least Rachel could do after all her mother had done for her.

With that thought firmly entrenched in her mind, Rachel squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and tried to ignore the faint throb still echoing low in her abdomen. As she moved toward the balcony door, she couldn’t help but wonder if women were as capable of sharing their bodies without love as men were.

“I have something for you.”

Sprawled on her stomach on her bed, Rachel looked up from her reading. She hadn’t heard her mother come in. “What is it?” she asked with a grin as she set the book aside. Her mother’s surprises never disappointed.

Stepping into the bedroom, Marion Westhaver pulled several swatches of fabric from behind her back. She smiled proudly.

“What’s that?” Rachel didn’t see how several scraps of cloth—no matter how pretty they were—could possibly be thought of as a good surprise.

“Fabric, obviously,” her mother replied teasingly. “These are just samples. The rest of the bolts are at Mrs. Ford’s.”

Mrs. Ford owned a dress shop in town. Her husband did quite well in trade and imported all the beautiful fabrics she used in her gowns. Rachel and her mother hadn’t been able to afford to have a gown made by her in years.

Anticipation and unease uncoiled in Rachel’s stomach. She had no doubt her mother was going to tell her she could have a new gown. The question was, how had she managed to pay for it?

“What’s going on, Mama?”

Sighing, her mother plopped down on the bed beside her. “You remember that quilt I made? The patchwork.”

“Yes.” It had taken her mother a year to make that quilt.

“Well, Mrs. Ford asked if she could buy it.” Smiling, Marion whispered conspiratorially, “I asked a ridiculous sum for it, Rachel.”

The idea of her mother asking a “ridiculous sum” for anything was enough to make Rachel laugh. “And she agreed?”

“She did, even more so when I asked if she’d be willing to pay in trade. She gave me my choice of any three fabrics—at her own price, mind you! And offered to have her girls make the dresses as well. Isn’t that a wonderful bargain? All you have to do is go in town for a fitting.”

The sinking feeling returned. Rachel had no doubt her mother had been the unwitting receiver of one of Mrs. Ford’s random acts of charity. No quilt was worth that kind of money. Part of Rachel wanted to refuse the gowns, but it wasn’t worth the blow to her mother’s pride.

“Why am I to get new gowns and not you?”

Her mother shrugged and looked away. “I’m an old woman, and you’re a young one.”

“You’re also a pitiful liar.”

Her mother still didn’t look at her. “Sir Henry already bought me a new gown. Now I want you to have one.”

Which meant Sir Henry hadn’t offered to buy one for Rachel. It was just one more example of his rotten business sense. How did he expect to get a good price for her if she looked like a ragamuffin?

Rachel sighed. Her mother was just as eager to see her married, although for less mercenary reasons. “You want to
dress me up like a debutante and see if I can’t snag myself a husband.”

Blushing, Marion swatted her with the pieces of fabric. “If you were a dutiful daughter, you’d go along with my plans.”

Rachel rolled onto her back and into a sitting position. “I thought I was being a dutiful daughter by trying to get you away from your husband.”

The look her mother shot her was tired. “I was hoping you’d give up on that.”

Rachel shook her head. “Not a chance.”

“I was afraid of that.” Her mother sighed. “Will you at least go have the gowns made?”

“Yes,” Rachel conceded, but only because it would make her mother happy. “Although I don’t know how you think a new gown is going to make any difference as to how the gentlemen around here think of me.”

Marion smiled knowingly. “Change the way a man sees you, and you change the way he feels about you. Besides, I heard you already captured the interest of one young man.”

Rachel froze. “And who might that be?”

“Who do you think? Other than Lady Westwood’s granddaughter, you were the only girl he danced with.”

It didn’t take long for the rumors to start.

“Mama, Lord Braven danced with Lady Westwood’s granddaughter because no one else would. The same reason he danced with me.”

But he hadn’t kissed Lady Westwood’s granddaughter, had he?

Her mother gazed at her, seeing her as only a mother could. Her mother saw her as a diamond of the first water, an incomparable, not some penniless ape leader. Rachel would love to see herself the same way, but she was far too practical. No man would marry her because she was poor and because no man was foolish enough to tie himself to Sir Henry
Westhaver. Such embarrassing connections were to be avoided at all cost, and that cost was Rachel’s chance at marital happiness. Besides, a husband would only get in the way of her plans. No man would want the scandal of a divorce to touch them, and certainly no man would want to part with her dowry in order to do it.

“He’s been asking about you.”

“What?”

Marion stroked a piece of sapphire-blue silk, barely containing her smug smile. This teasing side of her was one Rachel hadn’t seen in some time. Sir Henry must be in one of his loving phases. He always treated her mother like a queen after a beating. “Lord Braven. Apparently, he’s been talking to some of your mutual childhood friends. I wonder why?”