The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (48 page)

“The Lady Francine Larrabee,” Sanders announced.

Gideon’s breath caught as he turned, flanked by his cousins and brother, to see her.

A collective gasp emanated from the ballroom as the
ton
caught sight of the stunning woman in the entry. Her hair was long, piled loosely on top of her head, with ripples of curls cascading down her back and past her waist in ringlets that glistened like burnished bronze. Her face glowed, her chin tipped up with confidence while her bright blue eyes searched for him. She wore a peacock-blue silk gown that was cut very low across her breasts. The dress was tailored perfectly, accentuating her ripe bosom but barely covering it. The front was gathered below the waist, the skirt layered and drawn up in a bustle that cascaded back like a waterfall. The dress flowed like the wings of a butterfly when she moved.

Draped around her smooth throat was the necklace he had sent her, the brilliant sapphire in the center.

“Rox,” Perry said. Gideon’s mouth had gone dry. “Good God, man. Roxleigh!” he said again, pushing him toward the stairs. “You can’t leave her standing alone. Get
over
there!”

Gideon strode across the empty dance floor toward her as his cousins swarmed Perry with questions.

Gideon stopped at the base of the steps. “My lady, you look—ravishing,” he said softly. She smiled down at him. “This is not at all what we expected,” he said with a grin. “As I am sure you are aware.” He took her gloved hand in his and kissed her wrist, lingering just a moment too long.

She continued smiling at him as he nodded to the musicians. They listened to the murmur of the crowd spread through the ballroom in gaining waves. He swept her in a large circle around the empty dance floor, finally pulling her in and placing his other hand high on her back as the music started. She lifted her arm and let it rest atop the length of his, placing her slippers just next to his sleek black shoes.

Gideon was beaming, and it took her breath away. The man was a vision any day, but with his formal black and white dress and this smile, he was astonishing.

“Hudreds of women have been presented for centuries turned out in stunning white dresses, and here you are in blue. To what do I owe
this
honor?” he asked, inspecting her dress with hungry eyes as he spoke.

She caught his gaze and parted her lips, hesitating before she answered. “Well, Your Grace, the necklace you sent for me to wear simply didn’t match the other gown.”

“Indeed?” His eyebrows lifted.

“Indeed,” she echoed with a small nod. “It’s breathtaking.” She ran her hand over the stone.

“Breathtaking,” he repeated as he assessed her.

“Yes, entirely too beautiful. The dress ruined it. The color was wrong. The trim was gold, which clashed. I couldn’t possibly snub the Duke of Roxleigh. After all, he was so gracious as to host this ball for me. I would appear entirely ungrateful. There would be a scene.”

“Mmm. Entirely”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him? The Duke of Roxleigh? He is a terrible boor, so I’m told. He is a mean, unsightly recluse and quite obnoxiously proper.”

“Truly?”

“Oh, yes, and I wouldn’t want to cross him, you see. That would be a terrible mistake.”

“I must agree there,” he said. “What does this duke look like?”

Her breath caught. “Well, stunning, really.”

“Really? When you said he was unsightly, I pictured an old, awful, filthy—”

“Oh, no, no,” she said. “That’s part of the trap. He is absolutely handsome. At least, you know, as long as he doesn’t remove his shirt. But with his clothes on—dark hair, bottomless green eyes, perfectly tailored formal suit, perfectly shined black shoes.” Her eyes traveled his lean, powerful figure, coming to rest on his chest. “Perfectly fashioned tie.” She looked up into his striking green eyes and her breath caught again. “Stunning,” she whispered as he spun her through the ballroom, aware that every pair of eyes was on her, including his.

“Francine.” She gazed into his smoldering eyes. “Francine,” he breathed.

“You already said that,” she whispered.

“Yes, of course. I— Francine,” he said again as she giggled. “Francine, would you do me the honor—”

She tripped over his foot and he caught her up against himself and the rest of the ballroom disappeared on a hush. He dropped to one knee before her, knowing that he needed to beg her permission. “Francine, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked as he looked into her eyes.

Around them, the ballroom broke loose with chatter. Even the Duke of Roxleigh, reclusive and foreboding as he was, was expected to follow the line of decent behavior—and this was
not
it, Francine realized.

“Yes,” she breathed, overcome by the emotion she found in the depths of his green eyes, and suddenly, she trusted him, no matter the consequences. “Yes…yes! Yes, Gideon, yes!” she called out as the ballroom fell silent again, the music stopping. He leaned back and laughed joyously as she grasped his lapels and urged him to his feet, searching his face.

“Francine,” he said with a husky voice. “I love you.”

Thinking quickly, Perry caught the attention of the musicians and waved to them to start the music again. Then he moved across the dance floor toward Lady Alice Gracin and bowed perfunctorily, sweeping her out to the dance floor as her mother attempted to protest.

Meanwhile, Gideon pulled Francine back into the waltz.

Perry eyed Shaw, who was scowling at him, and carefully passed Lady Alice off, then swept the young girl next to her out to the dance floor without missing a step. “And who might you be?” Perry asked the small brunette in his arms. She stared up wordlessly as his cousins followed suit, taking the closest available partners and escorting them onto the floor to finish the waltz.

Gideon walked out of the ballroom to the terrace and straight into the lion’s den.

“Hell and damn, Rox! Are you trying to ruin yourself…and me? And Francine?” Perry yelled, advancing on his brother.

Gideon smiled. “You have nothing to fear from this,” he said. “I just saved her reputation, didn’t you hear? She has agreed to be my wife.”

“Oh, I heard. Everybody heard. Everyone,” Perry said, turning away to pace.

“Well, that makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

“What about any of this has been easy? I’m starting to think I preferred you as a recluse,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Careful, brother, people will mistake you for me, or me for you.” Gideon tried to smile, but he was stonewalled. “I see. So I suppose congratulations would be too much to ask.”

Perry stopped in front of his brother and sighed. He held his hand out. “I congratulate you and your betrothed. I assume that the surprises at this point will wane?”

“Perhaps. Though I believe I’ll look into a special license. I would like to wed as soon as possible. Of course, we can always go to Gretna Green. It isn’t far from Eildon.” Gideon paused, a smile breaking across his features. “We could leave London. We could go home.” He shook his brother’s hand vigorously as his excitement grew.

“Your Grace,” Francine said as she walked out to the terrace.

“My lady, I must congratulate you on such a successful match.”

Francine hugged Perry tightly. His eyes widened. He grunted, immediately aware that he was superfluous, and bowed to her before returning to the ballroom, where he surveyed the crowd.

“You never stay where I leave you, do you?” Gideon asked.

“Am I supposed to?” she asked sweetly.

He shook his head with a laugh as she walked over to him. “How is this to work if you do not do as I request of you?”

“Very well, I should think.” Her approach signaled an increasing cadence in his heart. His veins suffused with heat from her proximity, and he squared his shoulders to ward off the onslaught of emotion.

She pulled one glove off and touched his gloved hand, turning it over and rubbing a circle into his palm through the thin grey fabric. His heart raced and his pulse quickened as she pinched the tip of each finger to loosen the glove. “What are you—”

“Shh,” she whispered, slowly pulling the glove off, then tracing the skin between his fingers with the tip of hers.

He groaned at the gentle touch and a shiver traced up his arm, making him jerk away.

She frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” she said quietly, holding his glove out to him.

He took it as he stretched his fingers, releasing the charges that surged beneath his skin.

“I’m not offended. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He turned, taking her arm and pulling her swiftly across the garden. He stopped beneath a large willow tree, the curtain of branches sweeping the garden floor.

They didn’t touch, they didn’t speak. His eyes grazed over her strong yet delicate figure, sweeping her curves, making her muscles tense with his glances.

The gown itself meant nothing. He realized that whatever the condition of her clothing, he was equally drawn to her, amazed by her, in love with her.

She sighed heavily. “Kiss me,” she said, and he reached out with his bare hand, cupping her face and drawing her to him. Slower than sunrise he leaned down to her, brushing his mouth across hers, breathing her scent, as he warmed her lips for his kiss.

She held still, suffering his teasing ministrations as her senses flared in the agony of her patience.

His hand traveled to her nape, spreading her hair then clenching it between his fingers.

She allowed him to control her. Parting her lips, she felt his tongue caress her, his mouth hovering. He stroked her tenderly, compelling her mouth to open wider to him.

She marveled at the way he responded to her, and the way her body responded to him without permission. She lifted her hand and placed it on his hip, feeling the muscles across his abdomen tense. She inhaled through her mouth, tasting his breath, that familiar unsweetened cinnamon. She smiled under his lips and felt him smile back before he opened his hand on the back of her head and forced her mouth to his, stoking her passion.

Her mouth went dry as she thought of the feeling of his hardness, covered with satiny skin. She brushed her hand across the front of his trousers, her knuckles grazing his erection through the fabric, and his muscles reacted, his hand pulling her hips against his, melding them together. She was drawn completely against him, shoulder to toe.

She arched her back and the corset strained, her breasts swelling over the bust line of her dress, filling the delicate scarf that attempted to control them.

Gideon broke the kiss and leaned his shoulders back, forcing his turgid shaft against her belly though her skirts. He pulled the silk scarf away from her chest, sending traces of electricity shooting to her core.

She gasped, unable to move her head out of his firm hold as he bent to trace warm kisses across the swollen ridge of softness, delving his tongue into the tight crease between her breasts and tasting the sweet and salty honey of her skin.

He moved across her breast to her arm, placing kisses at the edge of her sleeve. He reached up and tugged on it, freeing the nipple that was tucked just below the bodice’s trim, and drew it into his mouth.

She cried out and he quickly covered her mouth with his, catching her pleasured gasp between his lips.