Scandal in Spring (21 page)

Except for Matthew Swift, of course.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, Daisy trudged along the path beside an ironstone wall that edged the bluff. Her amusement melted into moroseness as she thought of her father, who was determined to marry her to Matthew Swift…and Lillian, who wanted her to marry anyone
but
Swift…and her mother, who would be satisfied with nothing less than a peer. Mercedes was not going to be happy once she learned that Daisy had rebuffed Llandrindon.

Thinking over the past week, Daisy realized that her attempt to capture Matthew's attention had not been a game to her. It mattered desperately. She had never wanted anything in her life as much as the chance to speak to him sincerely, honestly, holding nothing back. But instead of forcing his feelings to the surface, she had only managed to uncover her own.

When she was with him, she felt the promise of something more wonderful, more exciting than anything she had read or dreamed about.

Something
real
.

It was incredible that a man she had always thought of as cold and passionless had turned out to be someone with so much gentleness and sensuality and tenderness. Someone who had secretly carried a lock of her hair in his pocket.

Becoming aware of someone's approach, Daisy glanced upward and felt her entire body quake.

Matthew was coming from the manor, looking dark and surly as he walked in ground-eating strides.

A man in a hurry with no place to go.

His momentum stopped abruptly as he saw her, his face turning blank.

They stared at each other in the charged silence.

Daisy's brows rushed downward in a scowl. It was either that or fling herself at him and start weeping. The depth of her yearning shocked her.

"Mr. Swift," she said unsteadily.

"Miss Bowman." He looked as though he would rather be anywhere but there with her.

Her nerves crackled with expectant heat as he reached for the sketchbook in her hand.

Without thinking, she let him take it.

His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the book, which was open to her sketch of Llandrindon. "Why did you draw him with a beard?" he asked.

"That's not a beard," Daisy said shortly. "It's shadowing."

"It looks as if he hasn't shaved in three months."

"I didn't ask for your opinion on my artwork," she snapped. She grabbed the sketchbook, but he refused to release it. "Let go," she demanded, tugging with all her might, "or I'll…"

"You'll what? Draw a portrait of me?" He released the book with a suddenness that caused her to stumble back a few steps. He held up his hands defensively. "No. Anything but that."

Daisy rushed at him and whacked his chest with the book. She hated it that she felt so alive with him. She hated the way her senses drank in his presence like dry earth absorbing rain. She hated his handsome face and virile body, and the mouth that was more tempting than any man's mouth had a right to be.

Matthew's smile vanished as his gaze slid over her and lingered on the torn seam at her shoulder. "What happened to your dress?"

"It was nothing. I had a sort of…well, a
scuffle,
you might call it, with Lord Llandrindon."

It was the most innocent way Daisy could think of to describe the encounter, which of course had been harmless. She was certain no lurid connotations could be attached to "scuffle."

However, it appeared that Swift's definition of the word was far more expansive than hers. Suddenly his expression turned dark and frightening, and his blue eyes blazed.

"I'm going to kill him," he said in a guttural voice. "He dared to—
where is he?
"

"No, no," Daisy said hastily, "you misunderstood— it wasn't like that— " Dropping the sketchbook, she threw her arms around him, using all her weight to restrain him as he headed toward the garden. She might as well have tried to hold back a charging bull. With the first few steps she was carried bodily with him. "
Wait!
What gives you the right to do anything where I'm concerned?"

Breathing heavily, Matthew stopped and glared down into her flushed face. "Did he touch you? Did he force you to— "

"You're nothing but a dog in the manger," Daisy cried hotly. "You don't want me— why should you care if someone else does? Leave me alone and go back to your plans for building your big sodding factory and making mountains of money! I hope you become the richest man in the world. I hope you get everything you want, and then someday you'll look around and wonder why no one loves you and why you're so unh— "

Her words were crushed into silence as he kissed her, his mouth hard and punishing. A wild thrill shot through her, and she turned her face away with a gasp. "— happy," she managed to finish, just before he clasped her head in his hands and kissed her again.

This time his mouth was gentler, shifting with sensuous urgency to find the most perfect fit. Daisy's hammering heart sent a rush of pleasure-heated blood through her dilating veins. She fumbled to grip his muscled wrists, her fingertips pressed against the throb of a pulse that was no less frenzied than her own.

Every time she thought Matthew would end the kiss he searched her more deeply. She responded feverishly, her knees weakening until she feared she might collapse to the ground like a rag doll.

Breaking the contact between their lips, she managed an anguished whisper. "Matthew…take me somewhere."

"No."

"Yes. I need…I need to be alone with you."

Panting raggedly, Matthew folded his arms around her, bringing her against his hard chest. She felt the desperate crush of his lips against her scalp.

"I can't trust myself that far," he finally said.

"Just to talk. Please. We can't stay out in the open like this. And if you leave me now I'll die."

Even aroused and in turmoil, Matthew couldn't prevent a smothered laugh at the dramatic statement. "You won't die."

"Just to talk," Daisy repeated, clinging to him. "I won't…I won't tempt you."

"Sweetheart." He let out a serrated breath. "You tempt me just by being in the same room with me."

Her throat turned hot, as if she had just swallowed sunlight. Sensing that any more coaxing would push him in the opposite direction, Daisy stayed silent. She pressed against him, letting the silent communication of their bodies melt his resolve.

With a quiet groan, Matthew took her hand and tugged her toward the bachelor's house. "God help us both if anyone sees."

Daisy was tempted to quip that in that case he would be forced to marry her, but she held her tongue and hurried up the steps with him.

Chapter 11

It was dark and cool inside the house,
which was paneled in gleaming rosewood and filled with heavy furniture. The windows were shrouded in jewel-colored velvets with silk fringe trim. Retaining Daisy's hand in his, Matthew led her through the house to a room in the back.

As Daisy stepped across the threshold, she realized it was his bedroom. Her skin prickled with excitement beneath the binding of her corset. The room was tidy, smelling of beeswax and wood polish, the window covered with cream-colored lace that let in the daylight.

A few articles were neatly arranged on the dresser; a comb, a toothbrush, tins of toothpowder and soap, and on the washstand, a razor and strop. No pomades, waxes, colognes or creams, no cravat pins or rings. One could hardly call him a dandy.

Matthew closed the door and turned toward her. He seemed very large in the small room, his broad frame dwarfing their civilized surroundings. Daisy's mouth went dry as she stared at him. She wanted to be close to him…she wanted to feel all his skin against hers.

"What is there between you and Llandrindon?" he demanded.

"Nothing. Only friendship. On my side, that is."

"And on his side?"

"I suspect— well, he seemed to indicate that he would not be averse to— you know."

"Yes, I know," he said thickly. "And even though I can't stand the bastard, I also can't blame him for wanting you. Not after the way you've teased and tempted him all week."

"If you're trying to imply that I've been acting like some femme fatale— "

"Don't try to deny it. I saw the way you flirted with him. The way you leaned close when you talked…the smiles, the provocative dresses…"

"Provocative dresses?" Daisy asked in bemusement.

"Like that one."

Daisy looked down at her demure white gown, which covered her entire chest and most of her arms. A nun couldn't have found fault with it. She glanced at him sardonically. "I've been trying for days to make you jealous. You would have saved me a lot of effort if you'd just admitted it straight off."

"You were deliberately trying to make me jealous?" he exploded. "What in God's name did you think
that
would accomplish? Or is turning me inside out your latest idea of an entertaining hobby?"

A sudden blush covered her face. "I thought you might feel something for me…and I hoped to make you admit it."

Matthew's mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't seem to speak. Daisy wondered uneasily what emotion was working on him. After a few moments he shook his head and leaned against the dresser as if he needed physical support.

"Are you angry?" she asked apprehensively.

His voice sounded odd and ragged. "Ten percent of me is angry."

"What about the other ninety percent?"

"That part is just a hairsbreadth away from throwing you on that bed and— " Matthew broke off and swallowed hard. "Daisy, you're too damned innocent to understand the danger you're in. It's taking all the self-control I've got to keep my hands off you. Don't play games with me, sweetheart. It's too easy for you to torture me, and I'm at my limit. To put to rest any doubts you might have…I'm jealous of every man who comes within ten feet of you. I'm jealous of the clothes on your skin and the air you breathe. I'm jealous of every moment you spend out of my sight."

Stunned, Daisy whispered, "You…you certainly haven't shown any sign of it."

"Over the years I've collected a thousand memories of you, every glimpse, every word you've ever said to me. All those visits to your family's home, those dinners and holidays— I could hardly wait to walk through the front door and see you." The corners of his mouth quirked with reminiscent amusement. "You, in the middle of that brash, bull-headed lot…I love watching you deal with your family. You've always been everything I thought a woman should be. And I have wanted you every second of my life since we first met."

Daisy was filled with an agony of regret. "I was never even nice to you," she said sorrowfully.

"I was damn glad you weren't. If you had been, I probably would have gone up in flames on the spot." Matthew stayed her with a gesture as she moved toward him. "No. Don't. As I told you before, I can't marry you under any circumstances. That's not going to change. But it has nothing to do with how much I want you." His eyes glowed like molten sapphire as he glanced over her slight form. "My God, how I want you," he whispered.

Daisy ached with the desire to throw herself into his arms. "I want you too. So much that I don't think I can let you go without knowing why."

"If it was possible to explain my reasons, believe me, I would have by now."

Daisy forced herself to ask the question she feared most. "Are you already married?"

Matthew's gaze shot to hers. "God, no."

Relief swept over her. "Then anything else can be resolved as long as you'll tell me— "

"If you were just a bit more worldly," Matthew said moodily, "you wouldn't use phrases like 'anything else can be resolved.'" He made his way to the other side of the dresser, leaving a clear path to the door.

He was silent for a long moment, as if considering some weighty matter.

Daisy was still and silent, holding his gaze. All she could offer him was patience. She waited without a word, without even blinking.

Matthew looked away from her, his expression distant. His eyes turned hard and flat as chips of polished cobalt. "A long time ago," he eventually said, "I made an enemy, a powerful one, through no fault of my own. Because of his influence I was forced to leave Boston. And I have good reason to believe this man's grievance will come back to haunt me someday. I've lived with that sword hanging over my head for years. I don't want you anywhere near me when it drops."

"But there must be something that can be done," Daisy said eagerly, determined to confront this unknown enemy with every means at her disposal. "If you'll just explain more, tell me his name and— "

"No." The word was quiet, but it contained a finality that caused her to fall abruptly silent. "I've been as honest with you as I can, Daisy. I hope you won't betray my confidence." He gestured to the door. "Now it's time for you to go."

"Just like that?" she asked in bewilderment. "After what you just told me, you want me to leave?"

"Yes. Try not to let anyone see you."

"It's not fair that you get to speak your piece without letting me— "

"Life is seldom fair," he said. "Even for a Bowman."

Daisy's thoughts raced as she stared at his hard profile. This wasn't mere obstinacy on his part. This was conviction. He had left no room for argument, no opening for negotiation.

"Shall I go to Llandrindon, then?" she asked, hoping to provoke him.

"Yes."

Daisy scowled. "I wish you'd be consistent. A few minutes ago you were ready to make mincemeat of him."

"If you want him, I have no right to object."

"If you want me, you have every right to say something!" Daisy strode to the door. "Why does everyone always claim women are illogical when men are a hundred times more so? First they want something, then they don't, then they make irrational decisions based on secrets they won't explain and no one is supposed to question them because a man's word is final."

As she reached for the doorknob, she saw the key in the lock, and her hand paused in mid-air.

She glanced at Matthew, who was firmly planted on the other side of the dresser to keep a safe distance between them.