Dair Devil (26 page)

He was surprised by her keen and succinct summation. He knew she was referring to Lily, and agreed with her, but all he said was,

“Thank you, Miss Talbot. You have made your point.”

“I meant no malice in my reckoning, my lord.”

He held her gaze, and she stared back at him openly and without guile. She was such a refreshing change from the majority of females with whom he associated. Whether in their beds, or amongst Society, even the women of the Banks family whom he trusted with his life, females told him what they believed he wanted to hear. But Aurora Talbot was incurably honest, and he doubted she could spin a lie even if she tried. Still, whatever her honesty, whatever she thought she knew about him, he had been on his guard for too many years now that he was not about to open up in any way, shape or form to a girl he had literally just realized existed, regardless of her good opinion of him. Besides which, the conversation was becoming far too serious and purposeful for his liking. So he said to tease her,

“Perhaps I missed my true calling? Should I be treading the boards…?”

“Oh, but you have the stage every time you step into a room. There isn’t a head—male, female or powdered—that doesn’t turn in your direction when your name is announced. And then your performance begins!”

He grinned.

“Aren’t you the clever one!” And made her a sweeping bow. “If one is to perform, then an audience is a must, and there is none better than an adoring female audience.”

She glanced down at the flowered cotton mittens that matched her dress, and smoothed out an imaginary crease, thinking of the enthusiastic reception he had received from the dancing girls at Romney’s studio. Taking a deep breath she schooled her features into a smile, with a twinkle in her eye and a dimple in her cheek.

“You need not go to so much bother. You could stand in the middle of a room, say and do nothing, and your adoring female audience would still be more than satisfied. Much like a statue fashioned of marble, or a full-length painting by Sir Joshua or Mr. Romney. I pity the verbiage of the gentleman poet who attempts to compete with your visual feast.”

At that he threw back his head and laughed heartily. When he could speak he moved to close the gap between them. Hands flat on the stone wall either side of her petticoats, he leaned into her, eyes level with hers and only inches away. He was so near she saw that his pupils had dilated, turning his irises coal black.

“My dear Miss Talbot,” he purred, “I’ll wager you a guinea that every time I strode into a drawing room, you itched to use your walking stick to trip me up.”

“Why would you think me so mean-spirited?” she asked softly, gaze riveted to his unblinking obsidian stare.

“That’s just it. I think you are the least mean-spirited person of my acquaintance.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Having me fall flat on my face would at least allow some other arrogant blusterer the chance to take center stage.”

“But to trip you up would deprive your adoring female audience. I could not be
that
mean spirited to
them
.”

“Touché, Miss Talbot.”

“Though… I have a confession,” she added hesitantly, and a little breathlessly because he continued to hold her gaze. “There was more than one occasion when I wanted to trip you, but—”

He held his breath, hoping upon hope she did not mention Romney’s Studio. Looking into her frank blue eyes, his defenses were crumbling and he was at the point of confessing all to her.

“—but my impulse was a purely selfish one, and I refrained from doing so.”

He leaned in even closer. She unconsciously mimicked his action and inched forward. A hair’s breadth was all that separated them.

“You should have been selfish a long time ago, Miss Talbot…”

S
IXTEEN

R 
ORY
COULD
HARDLY
BREATHE
. The pressure was back in her chest, as if her heart was too big to be contained in her ribs, and the tingling sensation had returned to her limbs. Did he have any idea how close his mouth was to hers? And then she felt his lower torso press gently against her legs. To her astonishment her knees parted of their own volition, allowing him to step right up to the wall.

She blinked and drew in a sharp breath, shocked. Yet, she did not shift to rectify her immodesty. She was scandalized into immobility, that he was standing between her open legs in the fresh air of a picturesque garden. For the sake of her reputation, and for propriety, she should shove him away as hard as she could, and bring her knees instantly and firmly back together. But as she had been in a far more compromising position with him when wrapped in a curtain, he naked but for a flap of leather between his thighs, to show outrage now would not only appear ridiculous but rather disingenuous.

So she allowed her response to be instinctive, rather than do what she ought. Her legs did indeed close, they closed around him, stockinged knees finding anchorage, hugging either side of his slim hips. And once fastened, her feet curled about the back of his thighs and locked, and would not let him go. Her legs might be concealed beneath the yardage of her flowered petticoats, but there was no hiding the intimate proximity of their bodies. It mattered not that his hands remained flat to the stone wall and hers were clasped in her lap, or that they were fully clothed. From the waist down they were now joined and Rory knew of no other place she wished to be.

And now he would kiss her. That’s what they both wanted, surely? She desperately wanted to kiss him, and if he did not take the initiative soon, she was sure she would faint with the anxiety of anticipation. She could not kiss him first. Females, gently-bred females, particularly virgins, did not take the initiative. To do so would lead to unnecessary speculation and conjecture. Gently-bred females waited to be kissed. They waited to be noticed. They could spend their whole life waiting, but wait they must.

But her
what if
voice dared to suggest she should just kiss him first. What if he was waiting for her to do just that? There she went again, with her
what ifs
!
Dolt
! Men such as the Major waited for no one and nothing. If he had any inclination to kiss her he would do so in the next minute or not at all. Perhaps he was merely trifling with her? It was possible he had orchestrated this intimate scene for the purpose of teaching her a lesson for calling him a big handsome buffoon and an arrogant blusterer. But surely he knew she had meant it as a compliment to his acting abilities?

So she continued to wait and ruminate, unaware that her breathing had become shallow and her face flushed with longing.

W
HILE
HE
MIGHT
not be privy to her doubts and wishes, Dair was aware of her in every other sense. He wanted to kiss this delightfully pretty creature, with her pert little nose and large blue eyes, all over, starting with her exceptionally kissable mouth. He would then remove the gossamer modesty fichu covering the low square neckline of her bodice, to expose then suckle her divine breasts, drinking in the scent of her: A heady mix of soft vanilla and sweet lavender, but mostly the scent was uniquely her: Tender, honest, and adorable.

He was alert to the fact she had trapped him between her legs, legs opened wide and pressed against his hips, legs wrapped hard about his thighs, and he smiled to himself. All that was between him and paradise were the cotton layers of her floral petticoats. And to his utter relief the slumbering beast, which had spent three unresponsive weeks in Portugal, had finally woken, and threatened to transform into an excruciating hardness that would overwhelm his good sense, and all caution would be scattered to the four winds. He might keep his hands flat on the stone wall either side of her panniers, but what he yearned to do was not only kiss her mouth, but tug open the fall of his breeches, slide her petticoats up her silken bare thighs, and cure his troubling temporary impotence there and then. Once sated, he could then return to his preferred road of bedding beautiful women with lascivious abandon.

Yet, contrary to popular opinion, he was not a conscienceless lothario who seduced women with only his own pleasure in mind, and no thought to the consequences. The truth was that since receiving the life-altering news at the tender age of seventeen that he was to become a father, the possible consequences of satisfying his carnal appetites were never far from his thoughts. Thus only seasoned females, married women who had done their duty by their husbands, and those he paid and who knew how to prevent the natural consequence of a coupling, were permitted to share his bed.

It was this remembrance of his personal criteria for a suitable lover, and the terrifying fact here was a young woman with no experience whatsoever, that overcame his most base instincts. He had no intention of defiling the lovely Miss Aurora Talbot. A simple kiss would suffice. Of course, he realized that even a simple kiss shared with an unmarried spinster of good family and unblemished character would be frowned upon by his peers as thoroughly ungentlemanly. But he convinced himself that Miss Talbot was a sensible, clever female who would see their kiss for what it was: A fleeting springtime flirtation. Just as she had behaved sensibly after their encounter at Romney’s Studio, she would keep this kiss to herself, for which he would be eternally grateful.

He smiled into her eyes, anticipating their kiss, and when she smiled back, it was all the encouragement he needed. But unlike his behavior at Romney’s studio, when he had mistaken her for a pretty whore in need of a new benefactor, and treated her accordingly, he was determined to show her he could be gentle and considerate and treat her with the respect that was her due as his social equal. Above all, he wanted her to enjoy the kiss as much as he did, and take away a pleasant memory from this brief encounter.

Deliberate in his movements, reasoning he had no wish to frighten her with any expectation other than treating her with gentlemanly reverence, he tenderly stroked her flushed cheek before gently tucking an unruly lock of her straw-blonde hair behind her ear. When he smiled into her eyes he saw her swallow. Whether deliberate or from nervousness, she ran the pink tip of her tongue along the rim of her upper lip, eyes on his mouth, and it was all the signal he needed he had her permission to press his mouth to hers.

Finally, he cupped her face between his large hands and kissed her.

R
ORY
’
S
HANDS
slid up the soft velvet front of his frock coat, around his neck to hold on tight, fingers in his shoulder length hair, head tilting in his hands to accommodate his nose as he pressed his mouth to hers. She was determined to savor every second of their kiss, and was delightfully surprised his piratical beard was not rough and spiky but silky and velvety soft, like the soft material of his frock coat. The black bristles of his beard brushed against her skin as they kissed, and in such a caressing way that it heightened her senses. She tingled all over. She liked his beard very much. But what surprised her even more was how gentle he was, and how tentative was his kiss.

This kiss was so unlike the one shared at Romney’s studio she wondered if he’d had second thoughts about kissing her. The first time they had kissed, it was with all the enthusiasm of a man who found her desirable. Now the flicker of desire was barely alight. And just as she began to melt into his arms, he snuffed that flame by breaking off their kiss. Her cheeks burned with shame, that he must have come to the realization he was not the least attracted to her when sober. Yet, he did not pull away, but continued to stare down at her, as if requiring her to provide him with an explanation.

How was she, a novice to such a situation, supposed to respond? She had never been left alone with a man who was not a close male relative, least of all been kissed by one, until the handsomest man in London made her dreams come true. She recognized in this kiss that she was a willing participant, and yet with no experience of rejection and how to extract herself with dignity, she froze with indecision. Mortified by such weakness of character, she was on the verge of tears.

How could she be so incompetent? Why had she fallen in love with this man? The pressure in her chest and the quickening of her heartbeat whenever she was in his company told her so. Why did it have to be
this
man, whose nefarious history with women was well-known to her, and who clearly cared little for her above the ordinary? And now that he knew her for what she was, a passably pretty ingénue, who would never dance and never be an elegant lady of fashion, he had probably kissed her out of pity; and that made her sick to her stomach.

Slowly, she withdrew her hands from his shoulders and dropped them back in her lap. But when she began to untangle her legs, to release the pressure of her knees on his hips, face hot with humiliation to realize how low she had allowed herself to stoop, he startled her by grabbing her by the upper arms and not letting go.

Her gaze flashed up to his face, and she shivered at the intensity in his black eyes and the scowl to his mouth. What thoughts were swirling about in that handsome head? Was he struggling with the right words to offer her up an apology for his behavior? She did not want to hear it! She did not want his contrition, and she most certainly did not want his pity. Determined to maintain her dignity, she pressed her lips together and regarded him with candor, gaze unblinking and locked to his scowl. She said a silent prayer, hoping the tears welling up behind her eyes did not drop to add misery to her shame.

But he surprised her yet again by loosening his grip on her arms as his brow cleared. She watched as a look, difficult to decipher, passed across his features. It was as if he had experienced some sort of dawning revelation, something so profound that he had surprised himself with this newfound knowledge. Slowly, his gaze raked over her, and followed his hands as they slid down the length of her slim arms to the cascade of lace at her elbows, before continuing over her cotton mitts, to her fingers, and here he took hold of her hands. She saw his Adam’s apple move, as he swallowed hard, then his jaw set hard, as if he had come to a difficult decision, but made it nonetheless. What that decision was she could not even speculate. She waited with shallow breath for him to speak. But when he did, he did not offer any explanation or apology, and he certainly did not provide her with a window to his thoughts.