Bridal Favors - Engaged in Wickedness Read online

  "I said it would do. It will. For you to stand against the terrace railing. Then I shall tell your friend, Amelia, that you have something to show Debra at your home and that I shall be escorting the two of you there."

  "She will wonder a great deal about that."

  He frowned as he searched her face. "I suspect that you can handle her questions tomorrow. I need to know: will this be sufficient for her mother?"

  Gwen nodded, impressed that he read the situation so well. Yes, she and Amelia shared nearly everything. It was Amelia's harridan of a mother who was the danger. "It should suffice. Especially if her mother has been drinking."

  Edward released a short snort of disgust. "London chaperones leave much to be desired. I shall have to do better with my sister."

  "Then I pity your sister," Gwen responded with a laugh. How excellent she felt right now! She didn't even care that she thought she heard the final flourish of the musicians. The ball would be ending very soon.

  He must have heard it too because he grimaced at the terrace door. "Stay here. I will be back very soon. Do you have a wrap of some sort?"

  "Yes. And it's very long for just this situation."

  He paused as his mind obviously working through the meaning of that. "You are too wild! What is your brother thinking?"

  "Having just enjoyed my wildness, Edward, I should think you are the last soul to criticize me!"

  He flushed at her rather tart retort, and his gaze dropped to his hands. "Touché," he said softly. "Now don't move. I shall return directly."

  "I shall not shift an inch," she said. Then she waited for him to disappear into the ballroom. She lingered a moment longer to see if anyone would come out onto the terrace. No one did as everyone was likely saying their good-byes inside.

  Then with an insane giggle, she hopped off the terrace and began the very short walk to the back of the property.

  Chapter 5

  "Bloody hell. She's bolted." Edward hastily scanned the grounds, the terrace, even squatted down to see beneath the boards. She wasn't anywhere to be found. And he damn well knew she was nowhere inside. He'd set Debra to watching while he settled things with Miss Amelia Chichester and her mother.

  "Bolted?" whispered Debra, her gloved hand pressed to her mouth. "But why? Was she in danger?"

  Edward bit back a curse, not knowing how to answer. If it were Debra who'd gone missing, he would search the retiring rooms for where she would be cowering. But Lady Gwen seemed to run arms spread wide into anything dangerous. That was part of her allure. He scanned the grounds again, even knowing it was useless. She had too much of a head start. She could be anywhere!

  Cursing at the delay, he still managed to dredge up a smile for his longtime neighbor and friend.

  "Debra, let me escort you to your mother. You two can take the carriage home. I shall find out what has happened to Lady Gwen."

  "You don't think she's taken harm, do you?"

  "No, no," he said as he took hold of her hand. "She's simply wandered off somewhere. I shall find her and see her safely home."

  "That's not very proper, you know."

  "Yes, I know." He barely restrained himself from grinding his teeth. "Which is why you must keep it secret. Sometimes Lady Gwen gets rather, um, distracted. You know how you sometimes get lost in your thoughts and wander off?"

  "Of course I do. But that's at home. Wandering off in London is dangerous!"

  He knew that, damn it, which was why he was trying to get rid of Debra right away so he could search for Gwen. But he couldn't let his anxiety show. That would set Debra into a tizzy for sure. Then he'd never keep this quiet. "Yes, yes," he said, as he rather brusquely pushed her into the rapidly clearing ballroom. "But London is her home, and so I expect she feels quite comfortable here." Too comfortable, to his mind.

  "Oh. Well, I suppose. If you're—"

  "I'm sure. Go on now. Wave to your Mama."

  "But what should I say—"

  "I'm off for manly pursuits. Say that to your Mama and she won't think a second thing about it."

  "But she'll be ever so disappointed that Lady Gwen isn't riding with us. She was rather excited when—"

  "But you can both visit Lady Gwen tomorrow, right? To thank her for helping with your gown?"

  Debra's expression cleared. "Oh! Oh yes! Of course—"

  "Bye now, Debra. We'll speak tomorrow, what?" He didn't let her say anything more, but rather roughly pushed her toward her Mama. The two would get home right and tight, which was more than he could say about Gwen. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop the fear churning in his gut. When he thought about all the dangers to a girl walking alone in the middle of the night...

  He put a firm stop to those types of thoughts and went off at a brisk clip. He had some experience tracking lost sheep and the like at home, but this was London and tracking a lady's footprints would be impossible even if it were daylight. He would have to go on gut instinct which told him the girl would head for home, walking steadily there if she could not find a cab.

  He skirted the edge of the house where there were servants relaxing outside after a hard evening's work. She would not want them to see her. He also put a wide berth between himself and the carriages lined up to take the last of the partygoers home. Then he hit the street where he guessed there had been a line of hackneys waiting for fares. All of them had passengers now, and he could only pray that one had picked up Lady Gwen.

  As casually as he could, he peered inside as many hackneys as possible. He did not find the lady in question, though he did see more than a few couples doing things that made him blush. He turned his feet toward her home, a good mile or more away, and began walking as quickly as possible. Damn his new shoes! They were not nearly as comfortable as his walking boots for all that they were supposed to be made for dancing.

  It took him a deuced long time. Long enough for him to build up his anger and worry to gargantuan proportions. It was made even worse when he finally arrived at his destination. The house was dark! Well, of course it would be dark. It was well after three in the morning! But he had to know if she was alive and in her bed or lying dead in a ditch somewhere from thieves or worse.

  He walked around the house, knowing he would learn nothing from the front. But once back there, he was faced with the same problem. Every window was dark! He didn't even know which bedroom was hers!

  Except that on closer inspection, he noticed that one of the second floor windows was open. From everything he'd heard, Lady Gwen's mother was of delicate condition. She would not sleep with the window open. Gwen, of course, would spread the panes wide and dare the elements to do their worst. So with that as his only guide, he kicked off his shoes—thank Heavens, that felt better!—grabbed hold of the ivy, and began to climb.

  He had no idea what he would say if he topped the sill only to find Gwen's mother. Or worse, her brother. If any man tried to climb the window to get to Connie, he would have the bastard whipped! By all account, Gwen's father was a drunken womanizer and more likely to be found at his brothel than at home, so at least he had few worries on that account.

  The ivy was thick and sturdy enough. Stately to look at, but a damned temptation for men and windowsills. He would be sure to rip down the ivy around Connie's room. By the time he topped the sill, he had lost all sense of reason or restraint. He saw Gwen there, lying on her bed with her heels kicked up as she stared dreamily at the coals. After all he had suffered chasing her through London, she was lying there as if nothing at all was wrong! Well, she would know her mistake! With his anger at full tilt as he dropped unceremoniously into her room.

  "What the devil are you about with your window open and the ivy so thick?" he demanded.

  She spun around with a gasp. Her eyes were wide with fear, but all he saw was the white flash of her bosom as the strings that tied her night rail flapped unused in the breeze.

  "You don't even tie your rail closed!"

  She gaped at him. The tiny part of
his mind still capable of reason was gaping as well. Good lord, had he lost his mind? To drop in on a woman and bellow at her as if he had the right? Had he not already nearly debauched her this night? What was he doing?

  But there was precious little room in his brain left for reason. It was completely consumed with worry and guilt. And those he unleashed without block as he hadn't done since he was in leading strings.

  "What kind of woman are you to wander off in the street of London alone! At night! Do you know you are the daughter of an earl? Do you know what could have happened to you? I told you to stay on the terrace!"

  Her face which had been so sweet, so ethereally angelic when he'd arrived now shifted into raw fury. She lost no time in shifting to her feet. Did she rush to tie up her gown with maidenly modesty? No. She let her rail hang willy-nilly, giving him maddening flashes of her creamy bosom, while she advanced on him like an avenging fury.

  "What are you doing jumping into my bedroom? What kind of man are you?"

  "Keep your voice down!" he said in a furious whisper. "Do you wish to wake the whole household?"

  "Now you're thinking about waking people? When you have climbed into my bedroom!" Thankfully, she did moderate her voice. But only barely.

  "I was afraid for you!" he snapped back. "I didn't know what happened!"

  "I got a hackney, just as I said."

  "What if someone saw you? What if cutpurses found you? By God, you ought to be spank—"

  Her hand cracked across his face, her open palm leaving a stinging imprint in his cheek. He stared at her, the pain bringing both clarity and madness to him. Clarity in that he saw her as he would a vengeful goddess, both magnificent and wholly desirable. Madness in that he was rock hard, and she was vulnerable to him. Barely dressed, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, and a bed a half step away.

  He struggled with his madness, fought to retain some sense of honor. But she raised her hand, obviously meaning to strike him again.

  So he caught her arm and her body. He hauled her tight against him and then he half carried, half threw her onto the bed. She was a well formed woman, solid with muscles along her slender frame, but he was a full head taller and used to the work of a farm. Her resistance was nothing to him.

  He landed upon her, his groin pushed deep and hard against hers. Her night rail was askew, enough for him to see the curve of her breast and the darkened areola of her nipple, but not enough to grab hold. Not unless he ripped it.

  Her pulse was beating franticly in her throat, her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her lips were open on a gasp. But her eyes were shining bright and steady. She was frightened but she was also excited.

  His reason latched onto that fact, forced him to study her face and her reactions. He had made a study of her long before he'd purposely spilled lemonade on her gown. There was meaning here. Something he needed to understand. But only if she stopped moving beneath him. Only if she stopped wiggling her hips such that she set his blood on fire.

  "Stop moving!" he ground out.

  She froze everything but her face, which shifted into wariness. He closed his eyes, fighting with all his might to regain sense. He started to win. His body continued to burn, but his mind began to clear. He was in the wrong here. The very, very dishonorable wrong. He needed to—

  She shifted her hips, pulsing once up into him. Primal hunger shot through him, a need that had him pushing into her over and over. Thank God there was fabric between them. Thank God the sensations were muted otherwise nothing would have stopped him from taking her.

  He groaned, his left hand tightening on her wrists, high above her head. When had he trapped her like that? When had he shifted to put his right hand down to the buttons of his trousers?

  He looked into her eyes, saw wonder and horror burning there. "Why do you tempt me like this? Why do you play with fire?"

  Her eyes widened in shock. He saw a sheen of tears flood her beautiful eyes. And then she bit her lip, riveting his attention to her tiny teeth and the hot, wet recess of her mouth.

  He groaned again and shut his eyes. "Do you understand what is happening here? Do you know how easily I could destroy you? You should have screamed when you first saw me in your window!"

  She snorted. The sound was short and lacked all humor, and he felt the ripple of the movement throughout his whole body. "Who would come to my rescue? My father and brothers are out. My mother is insensate from laudanum. And even the servants are gone. After my father's last drunken rampage through the house, no maid will stay the night."

  He opened his eyes, searching her face for the truth. Was it possible? Did no one protect her? "What about the footman? The butler?"

  "The footmen never stay. That was Mama's decree. Our butler is in his bed on the far side of the house. I do not know that he would hear me scream."

  He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. "You should not be telling me this. You should be screaming for your life."

  "Why? If you were going to hurt me, you would have done so already."

  Such naive logic. She did not know how quickly a man could change. Or how close he was to madness. Even now the open twist of her gown called to him. It would be the work of a moment to rip the thing apart and give him access to all of her.

  "May I ask you something, Edward?"

  He nearly laughed. She sounded as if they were at a tea party discussing the latest opera. But it tweaked his humor enough that he responded in kind.

  "Of course, Gwen. What would you like to know?"

  "Is it too dangerous to do what we did before?"

  He head was going to explode. The pressure of what she wanted, of her inviting him to do such things to her again, pounded through his body and brain. She wanted it. She wanted him. No man could be expected to stop when she asked such things.

  "Much too dangerous," he finally managed. Though it took all of his strength to say it.

  "Oh," she said softly, and he could feel her disappointment as her body sagged into the mattress.

  He started to laugh. "You will be the death of me."

  She lifted her chin, thrusting it forward in annoyance. "I hardly think you can say that, sir. I am the one wronged here."

  "Yes," he said solemnly, though humor still rippled through him. "Yes, you have been wronged repeatedly by me. And yet you still dare me to do more. Why Gwen? Most men would have taken your virginity by now. Is that what you want?"

  "Of course not!" she said. Her tone was fierce but he saw fear in her eyes.

  "You know what you are doing," he said softly, the realization hitting him broadside. "You know what you risk every time. And yet you cannot stop yourself." He had known men bent on their own destruction before. Through drink or violence, they steadily dared the fates to kill them. And eventually the fates won. Eventually the men died, some quickly, some horribly, but all of them found their end.

  He watched as her barriers crumpled. If they were in public at a ball somewhere, she would likely have turned away with a laugh. She would have found a way to hide her reaction. But she was trapped beneath him, almost naked, definitely vulnerable. And the tears that flooded her eyes would not stop. She didn't gasp or sob or do anything he was used to from his overly dramatic relatives. The tears just leaked steadily down the sides of her face.

  His heart melted. More than his heart. At that moment he gave his soul to her. For her use or abuse, whatever she needed. He gave it all to her.

  "Don't cry," he whispered, as he released her wrists. She didn't move, didn't even sniff, and he was the one to wipe her tears away. "We will find an answer. I promise."

  "You don't even know me."

  Right here was his moment. Right now he should confess how much he had watched her, studied her, made it his mission to know as much about her as he could. But he couldn't force himself to confess. Not when he was so close to learning the truth about her, the things that could not be learned by watching from afar.

  "I know that you are as br
ave as you are beautiful. I know that you are wild in the best and worst possible ways. And I know I want to protect you from yourself if you will let me. And even," he added ruefully, "if you don't allow it."

  "How?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her tone. "How would you protect me?"

  "By marrying you," he said. He didn't know where the words came from. He certainly hadn't intended to declare himself. And her violent reaction told him better than anything that he had erred badly.

  It took a moment for his words to sink into her. But the moment she understood what he'd said, what he'd vowed to himself weeks ago, she reacted with her whole body. She fought him. With all of her strength, all of her will, she threw herself into bucking him off her, into scratching his eyes out, into drawing breath for a scream he couldn't let her release.

  He kissed her. It was the only way he could think of to stop her screech. He failed. She still released sound, but he muffled it as best he could. He needed both hands again, grabbing hers and hauling her wrists high above her head. And still, his weight held her down, but it was a near thing. She was fighting hard and she was amazingly strong.

  But in the end, she stilled. The violence of her attack became passion in their kiss. Her hands grew slack while her tongue dueled with his. His hunger returned a thousand fold, and it matched her fury. He ground his organ against her, and he felt her gasp in response. Her legs shifted open, her hips pressed up into him, and without even breaking their kiss, he lifted up off her enough to rip her night rail apart. It all happened so easily.

  She broke their kiss in shock, and he took his cue to look down at the bounty that was Lady Gwen. High pointed breasts, caressed by the firelight. Creamy skin, narrow waist, and curls touched with red further down.

  He slid lower on her body, using the motion to tear apart the last of her gown. Her body was completely exposed to him then and he feasted on her breasts. She responded with all the passion in her, crying out as he sucked on her nipples, writhing beneath him as her legs slipped open. Her musk was strong enough to cloud every thought but one: that he must possess her now.