Moonglow (15 page)

Northrup reacted instantly, flinging himself away from her and covering his nose with his arm. “Ye gods, woman, put that away. Are you trying to kill me?” A violent eruption of sneezes shook his frame.

Quelling a smile, Daisy closed up the offending bottle. “Don’t like verbena, do you?”

He gave her a repressive glare between bouts of sneezing. His hand shook as he pulled a linen kerchief free. “Not many lycan do. It burns something fierce.”

“I shall keep that in mind, in the event you decide to get out of line.”

Northrup rolled his eyes. “And you call
me
a pest.”

They walked on in silence, but she felt the weight of Northrup’s stare. “What is it?” she finally said. His attention made her insides twitch, damn his eyes.

His buttered-toast voice rolled over her. “You are fearless, you know.”

She would not allow her cheeks to heat. Her cheeks ignored her. “I am not.” She studied the sway of her skirts as she strode forward. “I was terrified back there.”

“But you forged on, did what had to be done.” He stopped beneath a lonely lamppost, and his auburn locks,
tangling about his collar, glowed under the wavering lamplight. Daisy admired them, and the clean lines of his countenance.

Northrup’s head tilted as he continued to look her over as if just truly noticing she was there. “For all your frippery, you’re a brave lass.”

Daisy didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. “Careful now, Northrup, or I’ll start to believe you like me.”

His teeth flashed in the glow. “I think I like you too well at that, Daisy-girl.”

His words gave sway to a spot deep inside of her. She prattled on as if she hadn’t heard, lest he realize he affected her. “You talk of frippery when it is all too apparent that you rather like playing the fop as well. Do not try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Self-deprecation colored his chuckle. “Birds of a feather, are we?”

Her lips quirked, and she glanced away, the fluttery feeling inside her stomach making her long to run away so that it would stop. She was astounded that Northrup had let her come along with him. She couldn’t account for it; Craigmore was of the decided opinion that women stayed within the home. Of course, she knew on an intellectual level that all men, thankfully, were not like Craigmore. But it did not stop her from expecting them to be.

“Northrup?”

“Mmm?”

“I apologize. For not telling you about the perfumer before I went to find him. I am not…” She took a deep, coal-tinged breath. “I am not accustomed to having a man finding me worthy of being a partner.”

His gaze made her heart pound and her fingers shake. She hated feeling so exposed but found she hated his hurt and disappointment more.

“I would say that it was your previous partner who was unworthy.”

Really, he took her breath away at times. When he looked at her as if she mattered. Her, not Daisy the ornament, or Daisy the tease, but her. Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she said what he deserved to hear. “And for the other bit.”

His voice gentled, and she heard the humor hiding there. “What bit?”

He was watching her, a smile playing about his mouth, forgiveness already softening his eyes.

“For making you think I do not trust you to keep me safe. I do. Trust you, that is.”

His smile grew. “It relieves me to hear it, Daisy-Meg.”

There was an invitation in his voice, a lure for her to step close and forget herself.

He caught her expression and his smile grew fiendish.

“Don’t go getting calf-eyed on me,” he warned with amusement. “Or I’ll start to believe that you like me, too.”

“And we couldn’t have that,” Daisy said, feeling almost dizzy.

Northrup’s eyes were indigo in the dim. He looked at her as though he knew her every thought. “After all,” he said in a thick voice, “what would happen, Daisy-Meg, if you liked me?”

She couldn’t think past the heat filling her. Desperately, Daisy nibbled on the inside of her bottom lip. Control, she needed to gain control. This was why she stayed away from men, because her lusts, once set free, were too great to contain. A small voice prodded that she hadn’t been this overcome by her unlucky suitor in the alleyway the other night. Nor by the countless other men who
flirted with her over the years. No, only by
him.
This man whom she liked all too well.

His voice was a husky whisper and a taunt that plucked at her nerves. “What might you let me do?”

No, not with him. Not now. Carnal knowledge of the casual sort was one thing. This—
he
was something else. Flushed, Daisy turned and began briskly walking, taking a turn onto the main avenue. It was busier here, with people darting to and fro, sellers hawking evening fare for harried clerks on their way home.

Northrup’s long legs kept pace with hers with vexing ease, his deep voice a buzz about her ears. “So you would run from me now?” He chuckled, but the light in his eyes had dimmed. “Don’t you know we wolves like the chase? It only makes us want to—”

He said no more but froze. Daisy turned back in confusion. His expression altered to one of such pain that her breath left her.

M
emory was a cruel thing. It could attack without warning. All it needed was for the scene to be laid, a seemingly random sequence of events, a certain combination of scents, the quality of light hitting the street just so. A sound, a touch, if set just right, could suddenly fell a man and bring him to his knees.

As it were, such events conspired against Ian as they turned a corner. Hitting the precise note in the landscape of his mind, the sensation opened hidden corridors he’d rather keep closed. The scent snared him first, the slight breeze touched with the warmth of fried haddock mixed with the buttery sweet note of toffee that the vendors hawked along the square. Then the light of the lanterns, misty blue-green in the fog, and a woman’s laugh, holding the same overloud trill. It was all the same, as it had been decades ago.

“Da, why d’ye suppose that fellow’s teeth all fell out?”
That small hand, how it fit so well into his own larger one.
“Well now, Maccon, I suppose he ate only toffees and not his parritch. Let it be a warning to you, lad.”

Ian’s step faltered.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
He wouldn’t picture him. But it came, the sight of those eyes, deep brown and shining, like sunlight in a tidal pool, and his little nose wrinkling with disgust.

“Go on with you, Da! You’re just trying to get me to eat parritch.”

“There’s a smart lad. But how else are you going to grow big and strong like me, I ask you?”

A black hole opened in his chest, and by gods, it hurt. It hurt so that he could not move. Street traffic buffeted him as he stumbled to a stop and tried to breathe through the pain. A scream of frustration built behind his clenched teeth, for nothing on earth could bring back what was lost. Someone banged his shoulder, the bloke muttering in irritation. Then a different touch, soft and smooth over his fingertips, brought him back.

“Northrup?”

Out of the black misery, her face came into view, her blue eyes narrowed, that pouting mouth a flat line of concern. “Is something amiss? You look ill.”

He could only blink down at her as his throat closed. Loneliness, need, and despair made him quake. A flash of something darkened her eyes as she looked him over, understanding, pain that was her own, and then it was gone. If she treated him with pity, he’d howl and leave her standing alone on the street, but her pert chin merely lifted. “If you’ve plans to swoon simply so you can look up my skirts, I’ll kick your head and leave you where you lie.”

She grabbed his empty hand, filling it with her warmth. “Come along and cease your dramatics.” She proceeded to tug him down the street with cool efficiency, her hand staying in his, holding it firmly. Warmth spread along
their connection, up his arm and into the gaping maw of his chest. His feet worked to keep up, despite his longer stride and the mincing steps forced on her by her skirt.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or amused at such a blatant attempt.” The sound of her snappish voice was a balm. She glanced over her shoulder at him with an assessing eye. Whatever she saw in him did not meet full approval for she tugged harder, her look turning saucy. “I expected more creativity from you, Northrup. This is your idea of a chase? It’s pathetic, really.”

The painful lump of emotion in his throat softened and turned tender. Lightness bubbled up from within as her barbs continued. “You can do better, I’m sure. In the future—”

He stopped short, using their momentum to whip her about. His free arm snaked around her neat waist to hold her against him. And his mouth came down upon hers.

He meant it to be a peck, a lighthearted thank-you for seeing his pain and offering diversion instead of pity. That was what he had intended. But the moment his lips touched hers, his body decided on a different course. On a breath, he tilted his head into the kiss and fitted her closer.

Sweet mother, her mouth was as hot and delectable as he dreamed. He kissed her as if he’d done it a thousand times before, opening her mouth, shaping her lips with his as if he owned them. Shock made her rigid for just a moment, and then all that tightness turned to soft warmth and pressed into him, forcing a pained groan from his mouth. Her free hand fisted his lapel, and then she was kissing him back.

Jesus, she knew what she was about. Heat shivered over his skin as her tongue tangled with his. Coming up on her toes, she angled her head and suckled his lower lip
with a little greedy noise. His fingertips sank into the soft curve of her cheek as he held her still and gave her what she wanted.

They stood locked together on the street, attacking each other. He could think of no other word for the fierce biting, needy kisses, and the blinding speed of it. Their lips parted on a gasp as if they’d been struck by an electrical current.

With his arm still wrapped about her waist, he panted lightly as he stared down at her, taking in the lovely flush of her cheeks and her plump pink lips, wet now from his kiss. She blinked up at him, speechless apparently. So was he. She’d twisted him around her finger without effort, and all he wanted now was for her to twist harder. Christ, he was in a bad way. He did like her. Too much. And she was human. Destined to die someday. He couldn’t go through it again. It would kill him.

His hands shook,
shook
, damn it. But he played the part she expected of him and slipped one hand beneath her bustled train to give her rump a squeeze, getting a satisfying squeak out of her in the process. “In the future,” he said, straining to appear calm and unaffected, “I shall be more direct in my quest to get up your skirts, Daisy-Meg.”

A
s it turned out, M. Randal was the Honorable Mr. Jonathan Randal, fourth son of the Earl of Kentwick, who, unfortunately, had not been at home. After a bit of Northrup’s not inconsiderable persuasion, they finally spoke with Mr. Randal’s valet, who had informed them that the perfume had been given as gift.

“For Miss Annika Einarsson, Mr. Randal’s fiancée,” Randal’s valet had told them. The man stood rod straight in Mr. Randal’s proper, if unadorned, front parlor. “I purchased it myself. Sent out, of course, by Mr. Randal.”

“And you decided to purchase perfume from a back-alley perfumer rather than a reputable supplier?” Daisy asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.

The valet sniffed but his expression remained implacable. “He may be the son of an earl, but he’s the fourth son. Mr. Randal barely has blunt enough to rub two shillings together.” The valet smoothed his immaculate lapels. “His father pays my salary. His mother provided the betrothal ring. Miss Einarsson is the money in this
match. Can a man blame Mr. Randal for wanting to give her something on his own?”

Daisy had thought it rather lovely, actually. Northrup, on the other hand, had been impatient to track Annika down. The valet directed them to Holly Lodge in Highgate, where the couple were presently attending their engagement party.