Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series (16 page)

He accepted her plain statement as her acquiescence. “While you’re flirting with all the other gentlemen, know that I will be watching.” Through her glove, he stroked the edge of her finger that curled over the brass lamp handle. “Waiting. Counting my winnings.”

A
frisson of awareness trampled through Merribeth. Not because she was alone with Bane in the library, but because she realized she had no desire to flee. She glanced down from his eyes to his mouth.

“
All
the other gentlemen?” she mocked. “First of all, Colonel Hamersley is too old. Sir Colin is too quiet—I would never know if he was returning my flirting. And you must know that I detest Archer.” Though she didn’t know why, she felt the need to clarify her part of this strange bargain. “So the only one I’m likely to flirt with is Montwood.”

And perhaps, try to make Bane jealous.

“
He
was about to lose an arm,” Bane said, his voice dark with warning, like stampeding horses carrying the cavalry into battle. A thrill shot through her.

“Because you envy his skill on the piano? Or because he was aiding my quest to renew Mr. Clairmore’s affections?”

She felt it important to say the words aloud for herself, though Bane didn’t seem to appreciate the reminder of her main goal.

Silver heat flared in his gaze like a shaft of lightning. He snatched the candle from her and set it on the shelf behind him with enough force to extinguish the flame. He took hold of her, curling his hands beneath the ruffled cuff of her sleeves. The heat from his palms seared her flesh. “Because you’re mine.”

“
Yours
?” she mocked, but even as she said it, she felt her body go weak. Any part of her that might have resisted such a blatantly primitive claim now only heeded the call of the pagan drummer.

“
Mine
.” He ground out the word as if something had snapped in him for a moment, revealing a hardness she hadn’t seen before. He pulled her close, crushing her breasts against the hardness of his chest. “
My
pupil until the end of the party,” he corrected, expelling a deep breath as if she’d yanked the air from his lungs.

Her lips parted.

He shook his head, silencing any argument from her, and lowered his mouth. “Now, pay your lesson master the forfeits you owe for tonight.”

He didn’t wait for her to give the kiss. Instead, he took one.

Then, he took another. His mouth, body and the power he emanated made it impossible to resist.

She tilted her head, entreating his tongue to plunder past her lips and delve inside. The contact—the sweet shock of tongue against tongue—stole the air from her lungs. A low moan escaped her. He groaned in response. The vibration tickled her palate and teased the soft lining of her cheeks into giving up more moisture. She swallowed, tasting his essence in return and drawing him deeper into her mouth.

He pulled her closer. One hand slid to her nape and the other skimmed down her spine to the curve of her back. Her legs clashed against his. She shifted to get closer still and felt his hand slide possessively lower, over the swell of flesh of her derriere as he lifted her, settling her against the hardness of his thigh. Startled by a throbbing sensation where her body met his, she inhaled sharply.

Bane didn’t release her or ease the potency of his kiss. Instead, he deepened it even further. Percussive music played within her, accelerating until it was all she felt. A need, primal and desperate, came over her as she lifted her hands to circle his neck. She arched against him. His fingers dug into her flesh as he lifted her, dragging her up along the hard, male ridge of his body.

She’d never been kissed like this before. William’s had always been simple and chaste. They’d never lasted long enough for her to get a taste of him or draw his exhalation into her nostrils.

With Bane, the kiss felt as if he were leaving his mark on her. Claiming her.

His tongue was roughly textured and hot, flavored with the wine they drank at dinner, the coffee afterward, and a deeper essence her body identified as exotically male.
Him.

She was certain not every man tasted this way . . . or kissed this way. It felt as if each pull from his lips captured strands of her soul, leaving a void behind that only his breath could fill.

Her body arched against his again—a purely primitive offering, a pagan sacrifice.

Bane turned his head, pressing his cheek against hers, his breathing hard and heavy in her ear. “Venus, you’re going to kill me.”

It took a moment for the name to breech the heavy cloud of desire and find her brain.
Venus
? From anyone else’s lips, she would have taken it as an insult. But from Bane, it sounded like the sweetest endearment.

She nuzzled his neck, pressing her lips above the line of his cravat. “One more. We are not even. I’m certain I took one back to keep for myself.”

He groaned but ended on a wry laugh. “Only one?” His hands gripped her hips for a moment longer before he set her on her feet. Then he reached up to untangle her hands from behind his neck and took a step back.

“Must you stop?” Her body was still humming, throbbing, restless. All her senses were alert and too aware. Every breath was filled with his scent. She felt tingly all over, as if her body had fallen asleep only to awaken painfully. Rubbing against him was the only way to ease the ache. The taste of his kiss lingered on her tongue like the very last sip of coffee. She felt deprived and anxious. She couldn’t possibly go on like this.

“Yes.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and made a point not to look at her. “The servants’ stairs that lead to your bedchamber are too near and my sanity too far gone.”

At that, she blushed, suddenly aware of the consequences—should he have been a lesser man. She lifted her fingers to her lips. They felt heated and swollen, the skin surrounding them tender and likely red. He’d left his mark. “Perhaps your sanity and mine have both fled.”
Because I would give anything to return to your embrace
.

His gaze dropped to where her fingertips touched her lips. “Do not expect an apology.”

“I wouldn’t ask.”

“Good.” He nodded, studying her with an intensity that made her feel as if he were reliving their kiss all over again. “I took less than I wanted. Believe me, I could still find ways for you to earn an apology from me. Ways that would change your fate and not for the better.”

Her sanity was truly gone and any remnant of maidenly honor with it, because . . . She wanted him to show her.

Apparently reading it in her expression, he shook his head. “Good night, Miss Wakefield. Please lock your bedchamber door when you retire. And bolt your window too, instead of leaving it open as you did last night.” He brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Best not tempt fate.”

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

B
ane knew it wasn’t fate being tempted but him.

He thanked the last thread of his control for his ability to walk away from her. Especially when the entire fabric of his being had wanted to take her and claim her, no matter the consequences. Somehow, he’d managed to leave her, escape to his room for a fresh waistcoat, and then return to the parlor. The room, however, seemed empty without her in it.

If his frayed nerves were exposed, no one seemed to notice. Their attention was riveted on Hamersley as he boasted about the stag he’d brought down. Bane listened with half an ear, while the rest of him chided himself for his foolishness. One thing was certain; he needed to avoid Miss Wakefield for the remainder of the night. For that matter, he should probably avoid her tomorrow and the next day as well. Perhaps he should avoid her forever—it could take that long for him to regain all of his control.

Still, he must adhere to the terms of his bargain with dear
Auntie
Eve. He couldn’t risk losing Gypsy or the information that would grant him another victory over his grandfather. In fact, losing in any way wasn’t an option. On occasion, he’d allowed others to win but only to his ultimate advantage. This wasn’t one of those occasions.

He
needed
to win. The entire purpose of his life hinged on this victory, and he wasn’t about to allow one marriage-minded virgin to tempt him into forgetting that—no matter how tempted he was.

Still, he wasn’t certain how he’d manage to keep his distance, to keep from recalling the sound of her moan and the feel of her body arching against him.

Bane scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe the memory from his mind. When he looked up, he caught Eve’s steady gaze. And then the slow spread of a knowing smile.

He bristled, the sensation of pinpricks stinging the back of his neck. In that instant, he realized that he’d underestimated her. She was playing to win, only—for the first time—he didn’t think she cared a fig about winning Gypsy. He even wondered if this was about Amberdeen’s pursuit of her land. A voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that she had another purpose. A darker purpose. What it could be, he didn’t know. And he
always
knew.

That part unsettled him most of all.

He was slipping. He’d allowed himself to be distracted, pulled away from his own purpose. He’d missed something. Obviously, he needed to steer clear of distraction so that he could figure out what Eve was hiding.

Hamersley’s booming voice drew his attention again. “With a single round, and down he fell. It took four groomsmen to hoist the carcass.” His chest puffed with obvious pride. “I cleared a place of honor above my mantle for those antlers.”

Inspiration struck. “A hunting party. Now there’s an idea,” Bane said, as if it had been the colonel’s suggestion. “We could leave at first light.”

Eve frowned. They both knew that separating the men from the women for a day was skirting close to breaking their bargain. Before she could voice her objection, he made sure to assert that the women were also included.

Hamersley chimed in with his agreement. Montwood quickly added his, as did Sir Colin. It seemed the men were all as eager as he to leave the confines of the manor. However, once Archer slurred his interest in shooting anything that moved, any possibility of the women wanting to take part died a quick death.

Bane grinned at his aunt over this small victory. Whatever her game, there was no way he would let her win.

I
n the morning, before the first threads of dawn wove through the edge of the horizon, Bane saddled his Warmblood stallion, Ares. Believing it was the only place he would find rest and freedom from temptation, he’d spent the night in the stables. However, time had dragged on, suspended. In each moment that passed, he thought about going to her.

One thing was certain: he couldn’t trust himself to sleep in the manor for the remainder of the party. He didn’t even trust himself to walk into the kitchen for coffee this morning, because he knew it would only lead to more thoughts of her. Dangerous thoughts of forbidden kisses and servants’ stairways.

For now, he needed distance and a good deal of it too.

With Ares beneath him, he rode across the land toward Amberdeen’s estate in the north. According to the maps, since their party would be shooting on Amberdeen’s land, Bane thought it was only right to invite him along.

Moreover, if he could convince Amberdeen to join the party afterward, Bane would have the added bonus of annoying Eve to the ends of the earth. It would serve her right. After all, she’d invited Montwood for the purpose of flirting with Merribeth.
His
Venus.

Mine,
the voice said again. That same voice he’d heard last night. The same voice that he’d thought had been guiding him throughout his entire life—the same one that had kept him alive in battle, that had helped him make his fortune, that had kept him on the path of revenge . . . and now?

He doubted the voice he’d come to trust had ever existed at all.

Most likely, what he’d thought was instinct actually had been his own selfish desires. Because surely his instinct wouldn’t lead him to Merribeth. Instinct wouldn’t tell him that she was
his
to kiss,
his
to claim. Instinct wouldn’t tell him to take her virginity as well as any hope she had of a future.

True instinct—without selfish intent—would push her away. And keep her far away. The problem was, he craved more than her kisses and the promised heat of her body. He liked talking to her, teasing her. She spoke to him plainly, honestly, and didn’t hide her motivation or try to deceive him with her wiles. Because of that, he trusted her—which was a substantial feat, as he hadn’t trusted anyone in a very long time.

Bane exhaled, long and slow. Those thoughts were dangerous and unsettling.

Up ahead, he saw a figure, mounted on a dapple gray stallion. He instantly recognized it as Lord Amberdeen. When he drew closer, they exchanged a companionable greeting.

“What brings you to these woods so early, Knightswold?” Amberdeen handed his carbine to a waiting groom.

With a nod, Bane noted the two pheasants hanging on the side of his saddle. “It appears we have the same idea this morning. In fact, I came to ask permission as well as invite you to join a hunting party.”

Amberdeen gave a wry smile. “Something tells me your aunt will not be among the riders.”

“I should think you’d find relief that she did not have a loaded weapon while in your vicinity,” Bane said with a laugh. Amberdeen was a good sort. Far too good for the likes of Eve, but there was no accounting for taste.

“Quite so.” Amberdeen turned then and gave quick instructions to his groom to have the house ready a luncheon. He insisted on being the host, even when Bane told him it was unnecessary.

A short while later, they were riding back toward Eve’s estate for the others. Bane saw this as a perfect opportunity to settle, once and for all, at least one of the questions in regard to his wager. “My aunt tells me that you would like a foal from Gypsy.”

Amberdeen’s brow lifted in surprise. “What man among our set wouldn’t covet such a trophy? If I did make the comment, it was merely in passing. If I’d any real designs, I’d have come to you directly.”