Dare to Love (15 page)

My God, maybe I am no better than my
father. Maybe worse. While the marquess would flaunt his mistresses in front of his mother, at least they were women of a certain sort. He had never trifled with an innocent.

But Dare had. With Nivea, of all women. His best friend’s sister. How could he?

A week ago, he wouldn’t have considered it. But now, it was not so preposterous. Her skin was so soft. Smooth. She did not drown herself in scents, and yet she smelled enchanting. Like vanilla. It was delicious. For the first time in decades, she made him feel…he wasn’t even sure how. Safe?

It had taken him a lifetime to become impenetrable. It was the only way to avoid pain and betrayal. But when his boots dropped to the floor of that dusty old cottage, and he lay down next to Nivea, something happened. He felt…worthy. Vulnerable, even. It felt nice.

Suppose when he removed his boots, he lost that feeling? That serenity.

He snorted. God’s blood, what was wrong with him? He was the infamous Lord Landis. He took his pleasure whenever and wherever he chose. He didn’t need Nivea to make him whole. That was ridiculous.

In fact, he was being ridiculous.

Determined to regain some sort of equilibrium, he sprang off the bed and headed out onto the grounds to join the others, still wearing his boots.

“Broken”

A touch, caress,

a kiss, the heat.

His mouth, my skin, the warmth.

As senses tingle, words elude, he casts a spell that

I am loathe to break.

Up my ankle, calf,

and knee, his fingers slide

oh so deliberately.

A familiar path for him

but new to me.

All new to me.

The fire, the heat, and up it went until the word

I know I must yell out,

the simple word, to stop it all was in my brain

but not across my lips.

“Oh, no, stop, no.”

I wanted more

from him, just him.

Don’t stop, your lips, your touch, your skin on mine.

Oh God, don’t stop

the heat, the thrill, don’t stop.

Oh no, not that.

Don’t stop, oh Yes!

There are no words

from me, no words, the joy too great.

But him,

from him, just words of pain.

“Oh God. What have I done
?”

Hidden in the deep recesses of Nivea’s wardrobe was a hatbox, containing seemingly random items—a gold button from a man’s waistcoat, a soft, black velvet ribbon used to tie back a handful of equally soft, black hair, a ladies glove that once rested on a broad masculine shoulder during a dance that, just for a moment, elicited a smile from his full seductive lips. Nivea carefully went through the items, before adding the hastily scribbled poem, pouring out her agony of the afternoon. Folding it time and time again, to appear as small and inconspicuous as possible, she tucked it into a playbill from the first show she had ever attended, escorted by her brother and his devastatingly handsome friend, Lord Landis. Then she slammed the wardrobe shut and threw herself onto her bed, sobbing like a child.

Finally
, he had noticed me.

That was all she had ever wanted. He’d taken virtually every other woman in London to bed except her. But now that he had, what had she gained? His final words kept ringing in her head.
My God, what have I done?
No loving whispers, no promises, just an outburst of horror. As though the very thought of touching her disgusted him.

She dropped her head into her hands. How unfair that the most magical experience of her life could turn into a horrifying embarrassment, in the blink of an eye. Or to be more accurate, in the utterance of a single sentence.

How could she have been so stupid? So gullible? She had lost the man she loved and now she was ruined. How could she pledge herself to another man? He would expect her to be untouched.

But she had been touched. And it was wonderful. But not for him. Dear God, she would never be able to face him again.

Her best hope was that he would return to London. Then she could remain at Vincent Hall for the rest of the summer, and put this whole degrading experience behind her.

Despite her best intentions, every time she turned around the next two days, Dare was there. She had tried to sneak out to the stable to ride, and he had come walking up the path. She arrived late to lunch, only to find him filling his plate at the buffet. When she had entered the study with Amelia to plan the next evening’s entertainment, he had been there, playing chess with William. Still disgusted with her, he would quickly excuse himself.

After each episode, she had to fight back the fiery blush of embarrassment. The final time, when he swept past her without a word, she must have gone pale, because Amelia laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, asking, “Has something happened, dear? Lord Landis looked rather angry when he left.”

“No,” she stuttered, “nothing happened. It appears we just won’t suit. I’m sorry all your efforts were wasted.”

“Don’t be silly, darling. They weren’t wasted. I enjoyed spending time with you.” Amelia gave her a hug. “At any rate, we have the musicale tomorrow. We’ll invite Sir Morrell and a few other more amenable gentlemen. No doubt you will charm them all.”

Nivea tried to smile, but was certain the result was unconvincing.

The musicale began well. There wasn’t much talent to draw from, but the guests were eager to participate. Briar and Joseph played a melodious duet on the piano. Betsy borrowed a recorder from the nursery and played a Scottish jig. William and the earl encouraged everyone to join them in a rousing hunting song.

Next, it was Nivea’s turn. She was not all that comfortable performing, but Amelia had convinced her to sing, while she accompanied her on the piano. She made it through without butchering the song too badly and the crowd gave her a supportive cheer.

She was still standing at the front of the room, when the earl asked, “Would anyone else like to entertain us?”

There was a pause and then a women’s voice rang out. “Lord Landis, I’ve heard you are a talented pianist. Why don’t you play us something?”

Nivea’s eyes flew to Dare. He’d gone rigid, before turning toward Elizabeth Wilshire. The woman was pure evil. Her smirk made Nivea’s blood run cold. How could she know that? To his credit, Dare assumed his most bored expression and responded, “Sorry, my dear, but you are mistaken. I don’t play.”

She tossed her head, setting her curls bouncing. “That’s not what I’ve heard. I understand that you are quite an accomplished musician. You used to love to entertain your family.”

Nivea’s heart sank as Dare turned to her with unmitigated fury. Her legs threatened to give out, and she slumped against the piano. Dear God, he thought she let out his secret.

Pulling himself together, Dare pulled out his snuffbox, took a pinch, and ground out the words, “Again, I insist that you are mistaken. I do not now, nor have I ever played an instrument.”

Luckily, William came to his rescue. “Elizabeth, I have known Adair for more than fifteen years and I have never heard him play a single note. If he had any talent at all, you can be assured he would use it mercilessly to attract members of the fairer sex.”

Everyone chuckled and the tense moment passed. After the next song, Dare excused himself and stormed into the hallway.

He was hardly able to contain himself. His body pulsed with rage. So, Nivea decided to take out her revenge by spilling his secrets to the
ton
. How stupid could he have been, giving her this ammunition? He could be furious with Elizabeth, but while she was the one swinging the blade, Nivea had handed her the weapon.

She was no different than any other woman. True, he’d tumbled her once, and that was inexcusable. But that did not mean she had the right to betray his confidences.

He darted into the study and poured himself four fingers of William’s finest brandy. Tipping his head back, he gulped down half the glass, savoring the burn.

He should have expected it. After all, the wench had practically been stalking him these last two days. Everywhere he went, she would appear. Was she hoping he’d seduce her again? Or more laughably, was she looking to become his wife? God’s blood, she was the antithesis of what he expected in a wife. She would need to be beautiful, elegant, sophisticated, cultured, and, to fit in with his family, cruel. Only on that score, would she be perfect.

Still, her duplicity had taken him by surprise. What else had she confided to her friends?

Hell, he didn’t even think Nivea and Elizabeth
were
friends. She must be telling everyone his shameful history— how weak and pathetic he was to have let his father whip him like a dog. How he was afraid to go home. It was beyond infuriating.

Realizing that a mere glass of alcohol would not have the desired effect, he grabbed the bottle and headed up to his room. Maybe there he could drink enough to convince himself this was all a bad dream.

He had just stripped off his jacket and collapsed into his chair when he heard a faint knock on his door.

“Dare? It is Nivea. Can we talk?”

She was not to be believed. Hadn’t she done enough damage already? Did she really think he would
ever
speak with her again?

“Dare? Please. I need to see you. Please let me in.”

He wouldn’t dignify her with a response—the treacherous, two-faced charlatan.

“Lord Landis, I need to…”

“No!” he bellowed.

Surely she would take the hint. But instead, he heard her shuffling around on the other side of the door. Ah, so she required a direct confrontation. He hauled himself out of the chair, stormed over, and threw open the door. She stood there, frozen, with her hand raised in mid-knock.

“Still here?” he barked. Not wanting to create a public spectacle, he grabbed her arm and dragged her into his room.

The look he gave her was so ferocious, she took a step back.
Good.

“Let me make myself clear. After tonight, I will not speak to you again. I do not know why you felt the need to discuss my past with others, but I can promise you this. If you do it again, you will be eternally sorry. I will see to it that you are shunned by every family in the
ton
. You are not to speak
to
me or speak
of
me
ever
.”

Nivea stood there shaking. “Dare, I did not. I swear. I would not have told that to anyone, little yet Lady Wilshire.”

“I suppose she just guessed? Is that what you expect me to believe?”

“No, I mean—I don’t know!”

He put his face in hers and hissed, “I do not believe you.”

She stood there without another word, her eyes wide and dilated, her breaths gasping through parted lips. The need to punish her was overwhelming. He could not remember being more angry at another human being. Or disappointed in himself. After all, he had brought this on with his ridiculous confession.

Furious, he grabbed her and slammed his lips on hers.

The searing kiss was designed to intimidate her. And it did.

Not done, he pushed her up against the door and wrapped his arms around her.

“Were you angry because I shunned you? Were you hoping for more?” he growled. “Is this what you want?”

His lips began a trail down her jaw and neck, where he nipped at her throat. “You’re just like all the others. Selfish and petty, stopping at nothing to show your displeasure. I should have known better than to trust you.”

But as he continued, desire coursed through him. When he dug his fingers into her arms, continuing to nibble her neck, she gave a low moan of pleasure.

She was enjoying it. Well, so was he. Her scent was intoxicating. Unable to resist, he pressed his growing desire against her leg. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip. “Oh no. You’ll not escape me. I plan to show you exactly what happens when someone toys with me. You will pay.”

She wanted to fight him. She wanted to stop this madness and convince him she wasn’t the one who had told Elizabeth. But she couldn’t. She was powerless to resist. While his words were ugly, they were whispered in a lover’s tone that excited rather than scared her. So, when he brought his hand up to her breast and squeezed, she did not stop him. Instead, she leaned into him, yearning for his touch. Then he brushed his thumb over her peak and her knees buckled.

“Oh yes, you like that?” he taunted. “You may like this more. Maybe it will help you hold your tongue.” He lowered his head to her other breast and suckled.

It was sweet agony. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders just to remain upright.

“Feeling unsteady are you? Perhaps you should lie down.” He gathered her in his arms and with three long strides dropped her onto his bed. Shucking off his jacket, he covered her with his long, lean body and reclaimed her breasts with his hands and mouth. Quivering with sudden need, she rubbed against him.

“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxed.

She whimpered when he removed his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done.” He moved his hand to her legs and pushed up her skirts. His touch was hot and made her ache grow, sending warmth throughout her body. It was reprehensible, but she prayed that he would once again touch her between her legs.

As if reading her mind, he worked his fingers slowly up and pressed them against her undergarments. Even through the fabric, the sensation was magical.

“Oh, yes. Right there.” She dug her fingers into his back to hold him in place. Instead, he jerked away.

“Perhaps this will help.” He flipped up her skirts and slid her pantaloons down, tossing them on the floor. Before she could register a protest, he’d unbuttoned his breeches and pressed his bare legs against hers. The coarse hair scratched against her thighs, unusual and intimidating, yet not unpleasant. In fact, it was exciting. She had just begun to adjust to the feel when Dare drove a finger inside her. She bucked her hips off the bed.

“Oh, are you are ready for me so soon? Who would have thought shy, dowdy Nivea would be capable of such passions,” he murmured.