Too Wicked To Kiss Part 28

He backed against a window facing away from the fields, leveraged himself against the sill as best he could, with his feet spread wide, and pulled Miss Pemberton into his lap. Well, more like he pulled her into his embrace, as he'd tugged her to him face-forward. He smoothed down the sides of her gown until his hands curved over her hips, securing her between his thighs. Her palms settled atop his forearms.

After a moment, she gave a little half sob, half laugh and toppled forward, smashing directly into his cravat, and mumbled something that sounded like, "I apologize."

"For what?" he asked the top of her head. He dipped his chin until his lips pressed against the softness of her hair. "I have no idea what just happened. Did you have a vision?"

She nodded without looking up. "Earlier. Days earlier. With Susan. She was running through what I now know to be your fields, screaming for me. And then my stepfather burst through one of the paths, with me limp in his arms. He tossed me in his carriage and took me away."

"Over my dead body," Gavin said, and then paused as a horrible thought struck him. "Do your visions always come true?"

"Yes. No. I think so. I don't know. I've never known of them not not coming true-they seem to be memories, even the ones that haven't happened yet-but I thought...I thought if I just didn't go coming true-they seem to be memories, even the ones that haven't happened yet-but I thought...I thought if I just didn't go in in the fields, he couldn't take me the fields, he couldn't take me out out of them." of them."

"Logical enough." He tilted his face until his cheek rested against the top of her hair. "We'll do our best to keep you as far from the fields as possible. When was this capture to take place? Today?"

She sighed against his chest. "I don't know. My visions tend to be simultaneously useful and useless."

"All right. Well, let's keep being logical. We were just to the side of my property, were we not? And before that, in the front garden. The front garden is an excellent vantage point of the only means by which a carriage may come anywhere near us, and there were none. Trust me, I've been glancing over my shoulder ever since the Stanton woman first threatened to summon the constabulary."

"It'll be a race," she mumbled with a hiccupy laugh. "Which one of us gets taken away first."

"Not amusing," he returned gruffly, pressing his lips to her hair again. And then suddenly it wasn't enough. He threaded his fingers through what was left of her chignon, cradling the back of her head so he could gaze into her eyes.

Then he bent his head and kissed her.

He meant it to be a small kiss, a dry kiss, a chaste kiss. The merest brushing of closed lips against closed lips. The briefest of illicit contact.

But the moment he captured her breath with his own, her fingers dug into his biceps and she matched him kiss for kiss.

Her mouth opened beneath his. Tempting him. Teasing him. She suckled his lower lip until he gave her his tongue, and then she suckled that, too. He hauled her against his body, not caring if he destroyed her hair, if she destroyed his cravat, if his c.o.c.k throbbed against those maddening layers of fall and gown and chemise.

He had to have her. She was his. His to have, his to kiss, his to protect. No one could take her from him. And whether she wanted Gavin the man, her body wanted his his body, and that was enough for now. It would have to be. He was dying for her. Whether or not she was truly his-he was hers. body, and that was enough for now. It would have to be. He was dying for her. Whether or not she was truly his-he was hers.

She gasped into his mouth, ground her hips against him. He was moving too hard, too fast, bruising her with kisses. He had to be. But she pulled him closer, tighter, wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.

He deepened the kiss. What choice did he have? He could do nothing but succ.u.mb to desire. Succ.u.mb, and force her surrender as well. He slid his hands from her hips to her derriere, nestled her more firmly between his thighs, made love to her with his mouth and tongue as he rubbed his aching c.o.c.k against the softness of her body.

She did not recoil. She did not push him away. She wriggled against him, met his tentative thrusts with a whimper and her own rocking hips. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, his neck, his hair.

"Gavin," she moaned against his mouth.

He almost came.

He tilted his head back long enough to grin at her, with eyes that drank in her beauty, with lips that yearned for the touch of her mouth.

"I knew you'd first-name me eventually," he teased. Or meant to tease, but the words came out so low and so husky, he barely recognized his own pa.s.sion-strained voice.

She smiled back at him, the slow sensual smile of a woman who had a man by the b.a.l.l.s and well knew it, the smile of a woman swept up in the furor of her awakening body, the lilting, teasing, touch-me-kiss-me-love-me smile of a woman who wanted him him. Unbelievable. And unutterably arousing.

"I welcome you to call me Evangeline." The smile in her eyes took on a knowing, suggestive edge. "I welcome you to to Evangeline." Evangeline."

And then her mouth was upon his. Her arms tightened around him, twined, then loosened just enough to unplaster her b.r.e.a.s.t.s from his shirt, to rub them against his chest.

G.o.d help him. He swore he could feel her hard nipples through his waistcoat. And just in case that wasn't possible, just in case the only thing feeling her nipples was his frenzied imagination, he slid one of his hands from her rear to her hip, from her hip to her waist, from her waist to her ribs. His thumb brushed against the underside of her breast, then his index finger coasted upward, then his palm, and yes, an erect nipple definitely crowned that perfect breast.

Her breath hitched as he rubbed the tips of his fingers against it, rolling, teasing, gently tugging. He longed to feel her, skin to skin. Curse whoever invented clothing! He'd get rid of it in under two seconds. Maybe. Where the h.e.l.l was the bottom of her skirt? He had to touch her. Now. G.o.d d.a.m.n frustrating mess of silk and- She tore her mouth from his. "Why did you stop? Don't stop. I liked it. I-"

"I didn't stop," he promised. "I'm about to do something better, just as soon as I get my hands underneath this infuriating ream of-"

"Inside the summerhouse?" came an overloud female voice from outside the thin walls. "Are you sure he's in there, Mother?"

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n. He was going to kill that Stanton chit one of these days.

Gavin gave up trying to get under Miss Pemberton's gown and instantly set about righting it as best he could.

"Oh, no," she breathed, her eyes now wide with horror instead of heavy-lidded with pa.s.sion. "It's Susan."

"I know. I'll kill her later. Stand up straight and let me look at you." He c.o.c.ked his head and shrugged. "You look fine. Well, mostly fine. Your hair is doing something interesting, but other than that, you're as ravishing as ever. I mean, non-ravished-looking. I hope."

She eyed him and giggled. "You, on the other hand, look like somebody clutched fistfuls of your hair and smashed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into your cravat."

He lunged for her, grabbed her, then forced himself to let her go. "Woman, if you keep talking like that, I will give give the Stanton chit something shocking to see." the Stanton chit something shocking to see."

As if on cue, the Stanton chit's whiny voice grew even closer. "But I don't wish wish to be compromised today. I told you I'd rather wait until the end of the party. Besides, Evangeline says he won't marry me anyway." to be compromised today. I told you I'd rather wait until the end of the party. Besides, Evangeline says he won't marry me anyway."

"He'll have to," came Lady Stanton's cold response. "Or his honor will be forever impugned."

"Ha," he whispered to Evangeline. "My honor was impugned ages ago. I haven't had a reputation to uphold in years. You, however...Turn around."

"What?"

"Quickly. Turn around." He spun her backward, steadied her, scooped up her curls. "My apologies in advance. I've seen Rose do this to the twins about once an hour, but you seem to have lost the majority of your pins."

"You're fixing my hair? hair?"

"Attempting to, my lady. No compliments just yet." He twisted that gorgeous mane into a long, thick rope until it began to buckle and coil. He scrunched the ma.s.s into as boringly normal a chignon as he could, and affixed it with the few remaining hairpins. Not too bad for a first attempt. Lopsided, yes, but when was it not? And the tendrils escaping at the temple and nape only added to her beauty. As if she needed anything to add to her beauty. He wanted to shake her hair free and make love to her until their muscles were too weak to do more than tangle together. He wanted to- "Step lively, Susan! We haven't all day. I'll be back in five minutes to 'accidentally' come upon you just as soon as I fetch another witness. There's Mr. Teasdale; he'll have to do. Go on, now, before Lioncroft leaves. Lord knows what he's doing in there. And don't let him truly truly ravish you. I'll only be a second." ravish you. I'll only be a second."

Before Gavin had a chance to do more than leap to the opposite side of the room, the summerhouse door opened. The Stanton chit stumbled inside as if shoved, and the door shut just as quickly behind her.

"Good afternoon, Susan," Miss Pemberton said evenly, her tone and manner remarkably calm considering the arch glint in her eyes.

The Stanton chit gulped, grimaced, swung her gaze from Miss Pemberton to Gavin and back to Miss Pemberton again.

"Now is not the time for manners, Evangeline. We have to hurry. Mother's fetching Teasdale."

Gavin propped a shoulder against the wall. "Hurry and what, may I ask? Is this the moment where I get to ravish you both?"

The corner of Miss Pemberton's mouth quirked.

"I a.s.sure you," the Stanton chit said through clenched teeth. "This is not my idea."

"We know." Miss Pemberton jerked her head toward the window, dislodging another pin. "We could hear everything. Come, before your mother returns."

The Stanton chit shot him a suspicious look over her shoulder before following Miss Pemberton outside. Gavin closed the door behind them and they all headed toward the side of his house, away from where Lady Stanton's bonnet and Mr. Teasdale's beaver were just visible atop a row of blackberry bushes.

"How did your mother know where to find me?"

"The twins told her." The Stanton chit slid a half-reproachful, half-impressed glance toward Miss Pemberton. "She neglected to inquire as to whether he was alone."

"Susan? Susan, darling, where have you gone off to?" came Lady Stanton's gla.s.s-shattering falsetto from beyond the hedgerows. "Mr. Teasdale, would you be so kind as to help me locate my daughter?"

"Your mother," Miss Pemberton whispered, "is terrifying."

"I know." The Stanton chit blanched. "She's coming! What are we to do?"

"Nothing. We're out of the summerhouse and wandering about like everyone else." Miss Pemberton affected an exceptionally awkward stance. "Look natural."

One of the side doors to Gavin's house swung open. A footman stepped outside and shaded his eyes from the late afternoon sun. As soon as he caught sight of the trio he strode forward, reaching their side in seconds.

"My lord," he said when Gavin inclined his head. "You have a...guest."

Something in the slight hesitation sent alarm skittering across his skin.

"Who?" he demanded. "The constabulary?"

"No," Miss Pemberton breathed, backing up until her shoulders b.u.mped against the gray stones of the outer wall. "Please, no."

The footman handed Gavin a small white card. No matter how many times he read it, the name inscribed therein remained the same.

NEAL P PEMBERTON.

Chapter Twenty.

Evangeline plastered herself against the side of Mr. Lioncroft's house, wishing the stones scratching at her hair and clothes could swallow her whole.

Mr. Lioncroft hadn't said as much, but the way he stared at the calling card instead of meeting her eyes spoke volumes. Volumes about how she didn't have until tomorrow after all, how those stolen moments in the summerhouse had now become farewell kisses, how she should've been running away instead of flying kites, for heaven's sake. She should've fled as fast as her feet could take her, until she wore clean through her boots and her feet bled over the dirt and rocks.

And then run some more. Run until her lungs ached, until her knees buckled, until she died of exhaustion if that's what it took, because if her stepfather caught her, she'd never escape again. He was here. He had had caught her. He would strike her, he would take her, he would lock her up...but he wouldn't kill her yet. No, not yet. Not until he was done with her. Not until death was the more favorable option, not until she was begging for him to let her go or let her die, anything but hold her down and-heaven help her. He was caught her. He would strike her, he would take her, he would lock her up...but he wouldn't kill her yet. No, not yet. Not until he was done with her. Not until death was the more favorable option, not until she was begging for him to let her go or let her die, anything but hold her down and-heaven help her. He was here here.

She should've run.

Strong hands seized her by the forearms. Mr. Lioncroft. Gavin. Too late.

"No," he said to her, his voice low, urgent, determined. "Whatever you're thinking: No No. Trust me. I know it's impossible, but do it anyway."

"I have to leave," she whispered. "I have to run. I have to-"

"Wait." His knuckles caressed the side of her cheek, softly, briefly, and then he turned to his footman. "Where is he?"

"Doyle showed him into the Yellow Salon to await you, my lord."

"Well, show him out."

"My lord?"

"Show him to the porch. He can wait for me there. He's not welcome in my home. Porch. Go." The moment the footman disappeared, Mr. Lioncroft's gaze was upon her again. He reached out, slightly, subtly, to brush her fingertips with his own. His neck was corded, his muscles tensed, his jaw hard. He cut his gaze toward Susan. "Take Evangeline inside. Now. Use the servants' side entrance."

"I-I won't know how to get back to the guest quarters," Susan stammered.

"You don't need to. Stay in the servant quarters."

"With the servants? servants?"

"As a precaution. It's the last place anyone would look for you two." He hauled open the side door. "Go. Keep her safe."

Susan nodded, nudged Evangeline forward and through the darkened doorway. Evangeline stepped inside, turned, gazed at the man still standing outside the cracked door.

"He'll take me," she said, unable to keep the bleakness from her tone.

"He won't."

"He'll hurt me, and then he'll take me. That's his way."

"He won't won't."

"He will. He owns me. There's nothing you can do."

"I'll do it anyway. I-" He broke off, blinked, shook his head as if startled by whatever he'd been about to say. "I'll be back. Stay safe. I...I'll be back."

Then he shut the door and was gone.

"Come." Susan curled her gloved fingers around Evangeline's wrist. "We oughtn't to stay by the door."

Susan tugged Evangeline forward by the wrist. They headed away from the door, made their way down the shadowed corridor and around a corner. A small maid raced to meet them.

"Underbutler sent me," she said by way of greeting. She paused, bobbed, motioned hurriedly. "This way."

They followed her to an oblong room with a lit fireplace and a dozen or so mismatched chairs. A lone candelabrum flickered atop a short bookcase, casting its glow on the worn cushions and dark paintings.

"This is the servants' relaxing room," the maid explained. "Not much to do in here, 'less you know how to read, which those of us as don't are trying to learn, seeing as how the master makes sure we have time for ourselves, but there's a fire to keep you warm and seats as cozy as any, and if you don't mind my company overmuch, I'll be back frequent-like to relate as what's going on out-of-doors."