Too Wicked To Kiss Part 24

Gavin had purposefully orchestrated the seating arrangements so as to split up Nancy and Father Time, and to have a s.p.a.ce available for a certain luscious female. A certain luscious female he sometimes felt like shaking sense into, yes, but first he owed her an apology. An apology for preemptively ruining her her apology. How he would've loved to have been on the receiving end of an apology! Gavin wasn't sure such an event had ever transpired. apology. How he would've loved to have been on the receiving end of an apology! Gavin wasn't sure such an event had ever transpired.

The moment he finished helping the blond disappointment into a seated position, he rounded on his niece, busy frolicking in circles round the group.

"Jane," he said slowly, careful not to appear angry with her as it was in fact her birthday. "Did you deliver my message?"

"Yes, Uncle Lioncroft."

"Exactly as I told you?"

"Yes, Uncle Lioncroft."

"Then what the devil just happened?" His jaw clenched at Jane's startled expression and he belatedly wished he could recall his abrupt words.

"Please sit, both of you," Nancy called from her position on the blanket. "All your looming is making Miss Stanton nervous."

Gavin glowered at them both before sitting. He didn't care if he made the Stanton chit nervous. He was glad he made the Stanton chit nervous. If it would make the Stanton chit nervous enough to get up and trade positions with Miss Pemberton, he'd drop on all fours and snarl like a rabid lion.

His thirteen-year-old niece plopped down across from him and grinned.

"It's my birthday, birthday, birthday," Jane sang under her breath. She opened and closed the locket hanging around her neck with every repeated word. "It's my birthday, birthday, birthday, birthday, birth-"

"Enough!" Nancy threw a piece of crusty bread at her sister. "We've all seen your necklace. Leave it be long enough to let us eat, will you?"

Jane's lips curled smugly. "You're just jealous because n.o.body asked you to sit for a portrait. We'll be lo-o-o-ng gone before your birthday, birthday, birth-"

"So," the Stanton chit interrupted tentatively, leaning forward to inspect Jane's locket. "A portrait artist is coming to Blackberry Manor?"

"No," Gavin said shortly, hoping to curtail this train of thought before it bloomed into a full-fledged conversation.

Jane dropped a jar of marmalade into her lap and chortled. "The portrait artist lives here, Miss Stanton. It's Uncle Lioncroft!"

The Stanton chit's jaw tumbled open, giving her already-narrow face the impression of a gaping fish. "You are a portrait artist?" are a portrait artist?"

"No." He ripped off a bit of bread and shoved it in his mouth, so as to render himself incapable of partic.i.p.ating in the topic further.

"He's not usually a portrait artist. You've seen Uncle Lioncroft's landscapes," Nancy prompted helpfully. "They're on every wall."

The Stanton chit reprised her gaping-fish impression. "You are a landscape landscape artist? You painted all those...paintings?" artist? You painted all those...paintings?"

He pointed to his mouth and commenced exaggerated chewing. The Stanton chit was clearly a featherbrain. He'd eat ten loaves of bread if it allowed him to escape her pointless chatter.

"Talented all his life, Mother says," Jane added as she spread marmalade atop her bread. "When he wasn't fencing or racing curricles, and the like."

If the Stanton chit gaped at him any more, he feared she would pa.s.s out.

"I've a marvelous idea!" Jane's sticky bread fell into her lap as she clapped her hands together. "You should ask Uncle Lioncroft to paint your your portrait! Uncle Lioncroft, will you paint Miss Stanton's portrait, too?" portrait! Uncle Lioncroft, will you paint Miss Stanton's portrait, too?"

Gavin swallowed so quickly he choked on the dry crumbs. "No."

"Oh." Jane returned her focus to the slice of bread now stuck to her stomach.

The Stanton chit found her voice. "What about Miss Pemberton's?" she asked, a certain shrewdness in her eyes belying the innocence in her tone. "Would you paint hers?"

He glared at the Stanton chit until she paled and broke eye contact, which took approximately one second. Of course, he would paint Miss Pemberton's portrait. He had one unfinished in his studio this very moment, did he not? But his private obsession was none of the Stanton chit's d.a.m.n business. Impertinent fluff.

Where was Miss Pemberton, anyway? Still over there. Seated between the twins. Pa.s.sing a basket of fruit to Rose. Chuckling at something Teasdale said. Chuckling at something Teasdale said? Had that deaf old codger managed to wake up long enough to be amusing? amusing? Perhaps he was snoring again, and Miss Pemberton was simply laughing at his adenoids. Perhaps he was snoring again, and Miss Pemberton was simply laughing at his adenoids.

Why wouldn't she look this way? Couldn't she feel his gaze on her? If he stared any harder, he might burn holes in the back of her head. Her gorgeous, ever-mussed head. G.o.d, had any other woman ever looked so deliciously rumpled, as if just roused from his bed? That slumberous way of lifting her eyelashes ever so slowly, to send surrept.i.tious little glances his way...Where were those surrept.i.tious little glances now? He wanted glances! It was the least she could do, with all the staring he he was doing. was doing.

There she was, laughing again. Teasdale couldn't possibly be that diverting. She had to be driving him insane on purpose. Why would she choose an old roue with one foot in the casket over him? him? Was it the botched apology? Or the extortion? Gavin bet it was the extortion. Well, what else could he have done? Underhanded, he supposed, but at least it worked. She was here, wasn't she? As were his sister and his nieces. Everyone was smiling. Laughing. Having fun. None of which would've happened if he hadn't resorted to manipulation. Had he known it would be a sticking point, he would've added "dining with me upon occasion" to his list of demands. Was it the botched apology? Or the extortion? Gavin bet it was the extortion. Well, what else could he have done? Underhanded, he supposed, but at least it worked. She was here, wasn't she? As were his sister and his nieces. Everyone was smiling. Laughing. Having fun. None of which would've happened if he hadn't resorted to manipulation. Had he known it would be a sticking point, he would've added "dining with me upon occasion" to his list of demands.

"Right, Uncle Lioncroft?" Nancy's voice came a little too loudly, as though she'd been repeating herself for some time.

"Er, right," he muttered without taking his eyes from Miss Pemberton's head.

Jane erupted into peals of laughter. "I told told you he wasn't listening! She said the house was on fire, Uncle Lioncroft. Nancy said the you he wasn't listening! She said the house was on fire, Uncle Lioncroft. Nancy said the house house was on was on fire fire and you said, 'Er, right.' She said-you said-" Words dissolved into hiccupping, choked laughter. The Stanton chit was forced to thump Jane on the back until she could breathe again. and you said, 'Er, right.' She said-you said-" Words dissolved into hiccupping, choked laughter. The Stanton chit was forced to thump Jane on the back until she could breathe again.

Gavin scowled at all three of them.

What had Miss Pemberton meant by saying she was unable to get visions from his touch? Was that typical? That wasn't the only reason she endured his company, was it? Mental immunity? Because he was pretty sure he'd die right here on this blanket if the only thing to recommend his touch was a lack of accompanying visions.

Granted, he could see how lovemaking would be impossible if every touch of mouth or hand or c.o.c.k sent her off on a vision of the-devil-knew-what followed by one of those h.e.l.lacious headaches or, worse, blacking out completely. Nothing would kill the mood quite like unconsciousness.

But, still. No man wished to be settled settled for simply because his touch was the lesser evil. Gavin preferred his lovemaking to be a product of mutual pa.s.sion. Surely the tension between them wasn't all in his head. for simply because his touch was the lesser evil. Gavin preferred his lovemaking to be a product of mutual pa.s.sion. Surely the tension between them wasn't all in his head.

Or was it? Was that why she was off giggling with that rotter Teasdale again? Did she plan to circle the entire party to discover which other men's touches might be able to bring her pleasure without visions? Gavin wouldn't stand for such an act. He'd put a stop to any other man's attentions right now. He'd- "Uncle Lioncroft?"

"What?" Oh, Lord. He was on his feet and ten paces from his blanket in the direction of hers. He wouldn't really have planted a facer on a septuagenarian, would he? d.a.m.n. He might've. Better sit down and have more bread. And a little less wine. Matter of fact, he better trade seats with Jane so he couldn't see Miss Pemberton at all, or who knew what trouble he'd get himself into. Luckily, Miss Pemberton hadn't noticed him launch up from the blanket and charge in her direction. She was far too busy. Laughing. With Teasdale. Oh, Lord. He was on his feet and ten paces from his blanket in the direction of hers. He wouldn't really have planted a facer on a septuagenarian, would he? d.a.m.n. He might've. Better sit down and have more bread. And a little less wine. Matter of fact, he better trade seats with Jane so he couldn't see Miss Pemberton at all, or who knew what trouble he'd get himself into. Luckily, Miss Pemberton hadn't noticed him launch up from the blanket and charge in her direction. She was far too busy. Laughing. With Teasdale.

Devil take it...This was going to be the longest picnic ever.

No matter how much she concentrated on keeping her face averted from Mr. Lioncroft's corner of the garden, Evangeline was unable to miss him rise to his feet, change places with the birthday girl, and sit back down. Not only was his back to her-and she doubted she overreacted in imagining a personal slight behind the exchange-he now lounged alongside Susan far more intimately than ever, having secured his nieces on the opposite end of the blanket.

Evangeline would never have suggested Susan make an effort to arouse Mr. Lioncroft's interest if she'd thought Susan had a chance in h.e.l.l of succeeding.

"Aargh." Evangeline ripped her gaze away for the ten-thousandth time. If there was an error here, it was hers. She was the one who thrust Susan upon him. If Evangeline had perhaps taken her place at Mr. Lioncroft's side...Oh, what would it matter? The moment Evangeline left-and she would surely make her escape the moment she had the wherewithal to do so-Lady Stanton would swoop in and leg-shackle Susan to Mr. Lioncroft before you could say "haughty crone."

"What's wrong?" Lady Hetherington leaned forward, her face lined with concern.

"Nothing," Evangeline muttered, embarra.s.sed to be caught mooning over someone she could never have. She fumbled for her gla.s.s. Why couldn't she have slept through the entire luncheon like Mr. Teasdale?

Lady Hetherington frowned. "Is it my brother?"

Evangeline choked on her wine. "Er, what?"

"You are smiling at the twins and conversing with me and appearing perfectly happy and engaged one minute, but the moment you glance over your shoulder-which I can't help but notice occurs every few seconds-the most dreadful grimace twists up your features as though sharp needles have been stuck in your skin. It's almost as if he...That is to say...I cannot help but wonder if perchance you share..."

"Nothing," Evangeline blurted out, closing her eyes against the heat engulfing her face and the skepticism in Lady Hetherington's gaze. "Nothing at all."

"I see. Then I suppose it wouldn't interest you to know he glances over his his shoulder thrice as often." shoulder thrice as often."

"He what?" Evangeline nearly broke her neck twisting around to look. She froze when she discovered him doing the exact same thing.

His heated gaze locked with hers until the breath escaped her lungs in tiny little gasps. His lips moved. He was mouthing something. What was he saying? She couldn't tell. She couldn't even think. The sight of his lips brought to mind the feel of his kisses, the kisses she would never again have, the kisses he would soon be sharing with Susan. Perhaps he even glanced Evangeline's way to verify she took note of him nestled in close proximity to his future bride. After spending the noontime with Susan, there could be no doubt he'd realized the vast differences between Evangeline and a lady of Quality.

Horrible to imagine another woman feeling the weight of his body against hers, the heat of his flesh burning through her shift, the scratch of his jawline as he sc.r.a.ped his cheek across her skin in order to-Wait. Evangeline squinted.

He had shaved. This morning his jaw had been shadowed with stubble and his attire unremarkable, but now he looked as clean-shaven and tailored as the most particular of ton ton bucks. bucks.

Why? Appearances? Since when did he care about appearances? Since deciding to picnic with Susan? He was Quality and she was Quality and Evangeline was not. Harrumph. He'd looked better this morning. When his jaw was as scratchy and rough and raw as the man inside. When he didn't cage his true self behind a smooth, pretty exterior just to appease the ridiculous dictates of Polite Society.

His kisses wouldn't be the same now, without the warm feel of his lips smoothing away the delicious burn of masculine stubble. Then again, for all she knew, the next person to share his kisses might be Susan.

Evangeline jerked back to face Lady Hetherington. It took only the tiniest of moments for the countess to unblur and come back into focus.

"If he looks at me again," Evangeline said tightly, careful not to blink. "Don't tell me. I prefer not to know."

If Lady Hetherington found this to be an odd request, she gave no sign. She spoke not another word on the topic and allowed Evangeline to spend the rest of the picnic lunch focusing on the rambunctious twins.

Not for the first time, Evangeline wished she'd had a sister. Someone with whom she could play and laugh and tease. Someone she could've run away with, rather than flee her stepfather on her own. The solitary life was, well, solitary.

She glanced over her shoulder despite herself and cringed to see Susan and Mr. Lioncroft deep in conversation. They didn't look solitary. Why, oh, why hadn't she taken the empty seat herself, if she wanted it so much? Because self-sacrifice made her a better person? Bah. Self-sacrifice simply for self-sacrifice's sake didn't make anyone n.o.ble-it made her lonely. And maybe stupid. Bearing the Gift was a lonely enough curse on its own, before she'd gone and ostracized the one man she could interact with as a woman, not a witch.

Oh! He was turning his head. Evangeline snapped her gaze back to the twins and threw all her focus and willpower into their entertainment until the servants came to clear away the picnic miscellany.

"It's time, it's time!" Jane danced from one blanket to another, clapping and grinning. "Come away from the flowers and trees, everyone. It's time for kite-flying!"

Susan approached the blanket just as Evangeline rose to her feet.

"Well?" Evangeline heard herself ask sourly. "How did it go?"

"Boring."

"Boring," Evangeline repeated in disbelief. "In what way? Weren't you talking?"

Susan lifted a shoulder. "I suppose."

Evangeline's fingers clenched. She waited until it was clear no further information would be forthcoming before bursting out with, "Well, what did he say?"

"'No,' mostly." Susan rolled her eyes. "I believe it to be his favorite word."

"You didn't...take my advice? And learn more about him?" Evangeline held her breath.

"Hmmm." Susan cast her a calculating look. "I learned he's an artist, and painted all the landscapes in Blackberry Manor."

Evangeline's mouth fell open.

"You didn't didn't know! I was certain you already knew." know! I was certain you already knew."

"How would I know such a thing?"

Susan's forehead creased. "I don't know...something in his eyes when I asked if he'd paint your portrait."

"If he'd paint my-good heavens, Susan. What a question."

Susan's lips curved into a catlike grin.

After another moment of silence, Evangeline could withstand the suspense no more. She could barely withstand the urge to throttle her. "Susan. What did he say?"

"Nothing."

Evangeline frowned. "Nothing?"

"I suppose that's better than 'no,' which is what he said to every other query, including the question of whether he'd paint mine."

"Oh." He'd said no to Susan, but he hadn't said no to her. Interesting. Evangeline bit back a relieved smile.

Susan's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you don't have a tendre for him?"

"I-what?" Evangeline shook her head vigorously. "No, I...I'm leaving soon."

"That's no kind of answer. You can have a tendre for him even if you don't marry him, just like I can marry him even without a tendre. Oh, don't make that face. I know you believe in marrying for love. But if this is what I must do to escape Mother and rejoin Society, then this is what I must do. If there were some other recourse, believe me-I would not be pursuing him."

"Why not?" Evangeline glanced at Mr. Lioncroft from the corner of her eye. Who wouldn't want a man like that to call her own?

Susan sighed. "I don't imagine for a second Lionki-Lioncroft is interested in me. In fact, I've come to suspect thirty years of marriage wouldn't change that fact. If I thought for a second I'd ever be welcome in Society again without sacrificing myself to such an arrangement, I'd-"

"Touch me." Evangeline held out her hand, palm up.

Susan blinked. "What?"

"Give me your hand," Evangeline insisted. "Now."

"But you'll get a-"

"Yes, I know. Just try it. Perhaps I'll see you in Society. Meeting a man you do like, who loves you madly." Someone other than Mr. Lioncroft. I want to see Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft. Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft. Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft. I want to see Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft. Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft. Susan in Society without Mr. Lioncroft.

Tentatively, Susan placed her fingertips atop Evangeline's palm.

Dozens of expensively dressed ladies and gentlemen mill about an ornate lobby, some sipping wine, others checking fobs or polishing opera gla.s.ses.Francine Rutherford's gloved hand connects with Susan's face, sending her spectacles flying.Susan claps her own gloved hand to her cheek and leaves her spectacles, broken, on the ground. "I-I-""Liar," Francine announces. The crowd hushes, turns, gawks. Francine b.a.l.l.s up the paper and tosses it at Susan's feet. "Miss Stanton, I simply cannot condone such ill-bred behavior. Now that I know you for the sneak and scandalmonger you are, I am certain no one of any import shall appreciate your presence either."With her nose thrust high, Francine pivots and stalks off through the parted crowd.Susan removes her trembling hand from her reddened cheek and turns to the closest neighbor. The young lady glances down, unfocusing her eyes as if she doesn't register Susan's presence. Susan appeals to the next person, then the next, and the next.One by one, they each turn away.

Evangeline jerked her hand back to her side. Susan's face fell.

"No more parties?" she asked dejectedly. "I told you Lioncroft was my last chance."