My Fair Princess (21 page)

“There's no need for sarcasm, Leverton,” she said as she bent to retrieve her cap. It had fallen off when he tackled her. “And you still haven't said if you recognized the rider. It wasn't one of the smugglers, was it?”

“No, it was a riding officer, on patrol. He was obviously too late to be of any use.”

“Why didn't you flag him down?” she snapped.

“As I just said, there was no point,” he replied with exaggerated patience. “The smugglers were long gone.”

“No point? He was on a
horse
. He could have easily caught up with them. What were you thinking to just let him go by like that?” Her mother would be horrified at the way Gillian was speaking to him, but she couldn't help it. Leverton had let another opportunity slip away. What was wrong with the blasted man?

“I was thinking I didn't want to expose you to more scurrilous gossip,” he said, clearly growing irate again. “I am trying to protect your reputation, Miss Dryden. Explaining your presence here in the middle of the night to a riding officer would hardly assist me in achieving that goal.”

“I don't give a hang about my reputation,” she shouted. “That was our best chance to find my jewels, and you ruined it.”

“It is blindingly obvious that you care not a whit for your reputation. You take every occasion to be outrageous, to behave like a—”

He bit off whatever insult he was going to level. Then he sucked in a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself.

“Gillian,” he said.

She waved an impatient hand, ignoring the way her chest seemed to twist and tighten. His tone practically reeked with disdain. “Light-skirt? Doxy? Which is it? Go ahead and say it if it makes you feel better. It won't bother me in the slightest.”

It was a lie. She'd spent a lifetime learning to ignore the acidic little jabs and the steady drip of smirking insults, but the pain they'd caused was nothing compared to knowing he felt the same. It seemed to hollow her out, leaving an empty darkness that could never be filled.

“I wasn't going to say any such thing,” he said. “I never would.”

“Well, it doesn't matter. Now, can we please go?” She needed to move, to get away from him. Tears stung her eyes, and she could feel her throat going thick. The notion that she would cry over this—over him—was simply appalling. Gillian hadn't truly cried since the death of her stepfather. That Leverton had the power to call forth such a dreadful sign of weakness infuriated her.

Perversely, that made her want to cry even more. What in God's name was wrong with her?

She tried to shove past him again, but he stepped in front of her and grasped her shoulders.

“Let me go.”

“Not until you let me apologize,” he said in a gravelly voice.

She tried to wriggle out from under his grip. His gloved fingers held her tight.

“I don't need any apologies from the likes of y-you.” Gillian almost fainted in horror to hear the break in her voice. She'd called him a coward, and yet here she was acting like a silly female with the vapors. As if his words truly had the power to harm her.

Sadly, it appeared they did.

She sniffed as she tried to steady herself. Unfortunately, one exceedingly defiant sob seemed intent on forcing itself out.

“Are you crying, Gillian?” Leverton asked in a voice of soft amazement.

“Don't be ridiculous. As if I would cry over something as stupid as this.” As if she would cry over the mistaken assumption that he liked her, when apparently he did not.

“Then what is this I see on your cheek?” He gently brushed a gloved finger over her face. “Yes, there is a tear, sparkling like a jewel. How extraordinary.”

“Don't you dare make fun of me.” She glared up at him, rather a tricky feat when one was trying not to bawl.

He barked out a laugh. “Believe me, I find this situation anything but amusing. Painful would be a more apt description.”

That dried her tears. “If you don't let me go this instant, I will make you very sorry. And I don't give a damn if you are a bloody duke.” He wouldn't be the first man she'd kneed in the bollocks, and she didn't suppose he'd be the last.

“Right now, I don't give a damn either.” And with that, Leverton hauled Gillian up on her toes and covered her mouth in a fierce, smoldering kiss.

* * *

When he pulled her up, Gillian went stiff as a plank in his arms; her eyes popped wide in shock. Charles knew exactly how she felt. He'd clearly lost his mind, and no amount of effort on his part seemed capable of tracking it down. Not that it would matter. The only thing that mattered was that he'd hurt her. He'd made her cry.

Gillian Dryden, the strongest, most resourceful girl one could ever hope to meet, had shed tears, and it almost killed him. All Charles wanted to do was chase away the pain that had flashed through her beautiful eyes, a pain that told him how many times she'd been insulted by sneering words and casual cruelty. And he wanted to chase away the pain before she recovered enough to knee him in the balls. He suspected she'd been only seconds from doing just that when he slammed his mouth down onto hers.

As his lips moved over hers, he told himself that he was simply trying to disarm her, soothing her until she calmed down enough for them to talk.

Soothe her, yes. But talk? What he wanted to do was pull her down to the sand and kiss her into melting submission. He'd wanted to do it from the minute he pushed her under him in a desperate attempt to keep her safe. They'd been inches from danger, and yet he'd been hard-pressed to keep himself from stripping those ridiculous clothes from her body and making love to her.

There was very little doubt that he'd lost his bloody mind when it came to Gillian Dryden.

He slid his tongue just a fraction between her lips, silently urging her to open. Gillian didn't seem inclined to pull away or, thankfully, unman him. If anything, she was swaying closer, eyes now closed and hands pressed flat to his chest as if she needed him to support her. Then she breathed out an endearing little whimper that suggested she didn't know what to do. How to take what he wanted to give her.

And then he was lost in a haze of lust and longing that he'd been trying to deny for what seemed a lifetime. That sweet, vulnerable sound made him shake, as if all the energy he'd put into holding back was straining against an invisible leash. But now that he finally held her in his arms, there wasn't a force on earth that could stop him. Not logic, not reason, not even his vaunted self-control.

He slid a hand up her neck to cup her chin, tipping her face so he could more fully devour her mouth. Her lips quivered and finally parted. He slipped in, teasing her for a brief second, then retreating to nip her lower lip. She moaned and trembled against him, her fingers digging into his coat as she wriggled closer.

Her response flashed fire through his veins, and he slid his other hand inside her coat to cup her delectable bottom. He squeezed, shaping the lovely curve through her breeches—and who had ever thought breeches on a woman could be so seductive. Then he nudged her closer, pressing her against his straining erection. Charles couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman so much. Even Letitia had never kissed him like this, with an open and entirely genuine eagerness.

Gillian was now using her grip on his coat to pull herself up. She clamped one hand around the back of his neck to hold him steady as she kissed him back with an enthusiasm that almost sent his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

For a girl who'd been tearing a strip off him just moments ago, she'd certainly gotten into the spirit of things, turning his mind to mush in the process. Her sweet lips wandered over him, teasing and tasting with dainty licks that felt like flickers of fire. When Gillian rubbed her gentle curves against him, Charles felt his knees start to buckle. Every point of contact between them heated to unbearable levels.

Charles pulled back from the torrid embrace and tried to put some air between them, desperate to retain a degree of sanity. He felt like he was on the edge of a precipice. Just below, barely hidden from view, were lovely, lush, and dark secrets. All it needed was one little step off the edge to get there.

And he wanted to get
there
more than anything he'd ever imagined.

He needed to think fast and for both of them, since Gillian was resisting any attempt on his part to retreat. In fact, she was practically climbing up his body. She'd hooked one slim leg around the back of his thigh and shimmied up him, placing the sweet notch of her thighs right against him. The girl was as lithe as an acrobat, and his erection certainly approved. Charles could barely keep himself from ripping open the fall of his breeches—and hers—and plunging into her delicious warmth.

He opened his mouth to voice a warning, but Gillian's dainty tongue darted inside, again taking sweet advantage. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to suck her in deep. Instead, he forced himself to pull back, doing his best to ignore her incoherent protest as he clamped his arms around her waist and eased her a few inches away.

Naturally, being Gillian, she went under protest. She slid her foot down his leg, but still kept it hooked around his calf. Her pelvis remained locked against his groin, even though she leaned back to stare up at him. The woman was a bloody acrobat, all right, twined around him like ivy, all the right parts of her body fitting perfectly with his.

The scowl she directed at him belied a mouth that was lush, wet, and red, and a heavy-lidded, sensual gaze. Gillian looked both thoroughly kissed and thoroughly annoyed that they'd stopped. There wasn't a doubt in heaven that she wanted to keep going as much as he did.

“Why are you stopping?” Her soft, husky voice seemed expressly designed to bleed every particle of common sense from his brain.

“Ah, I want to make sure you know what you're doing,” Charles managed. “We need to think about this.”

Her straight brows tilted up. “Really? We both seem to know what we're doing quite well.”

He choked out a laugh. “That's the problem. It's too damn easy. I can see us getting into a great deal of trouble.”

Trouble with Gillian, he was beginning to fear, was exactly what he wanted. All he could think about was her naked and in his bed, with long hours of lovemaking stretching ahead of them. Possibly even days stretching into months and then years.

It was insane.

She unhooked her leg and came down his body in a torturously delicious slide that sent him right to the edge. As if he needed another example of her ability to blow his self-control to smithereens.

She dropped down on her heels and straightened, a frown marking her forehead. “It's supposed to be easy when it's right, isn't it?”

That made perfect sense, but it had to be wrong. He and Gillian didn't belong together, not by any rational argument. Yet it felt right in a way that defied logic and sense, diving deep down into muscle and bone.

Charles stared into her face, taking in the open, vulnerable expression on her elegant features. Gillian rarely looked that unguarded—after all, she'd learned caution in a hard school. But that earth-shattering kiss had stripped her down, revealing a girl so eager for affection that it scared the absolute hell out of him.

He stood there like a great lummox, trying to figure out what to do with her. With them. But the answer hung just beyond his reach.

A change came over her, bitterness shifting within her gaze. “I thought you were different; I truly did.” Then she affected a casual shrug. “I suppose I should just let you take what you want, and then we can get back to hating each other.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he bit out.

“Men take what they want, and then cast it aside.” She braced her hands on her hips, staring defiantly up at him. In the faint tendrils of light of the approaching dawn, she looked like a fierce pagan goddess. She jabbed him in the chest. “Do you ever think about what I want? Or is it only what you want that matters.”

“Of course it matters what you want,” he said. “More than what I want, in fact. It means that I will not take advantage of you.”

Gillian slid a look down his body, lingering on his groin. She was clearly furious, but there was as much passion in her gaze as there was anger. “And what if I want to take advantage of you? What then?”

He let out a derisive snort. “That's ridiculous. Gillian, you're not thinking clearly. Neither of us is.”

She flicked away his comments with a dismissive hand. “It's not about thinking; it's about wanting. And I want you, Leverton, to my utter surprise. And I believe you want me, do you not?” Again, her gaze traveled down to his groin. “Oh, yes, you do,” she whispered. “You want me very much, but you hate yourself for it.”

How could he not want her? Any man would. “No, that's not it at all.”

Like an icy goddess, she sneered at him and turned her back. “Well, you won't have me. I've changed my mind. You're too much trouble for me to waste my time with you.”

Her words seemed to set off an explosion in his head. He hardly remembered moving, but a moment later he'd swept her off her feet. She let out a funny little growl and grabbed the collar of his coat.

“What in blazes do you think you're doing?” she snapped.

“I'm apparently losing my mind.”

“You don't need me to do that, so please set me down.”