Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Daphne wasn’t sure he would keep their bargain.
When it came to Dominic Hawke, doubt was her constant companion. Oh, she never doubted how he made her feel. Like she was the only woman in the room. Like she was some rare bloom whose scent could undo a man.
But desire was not devotion. And Dominic Hawke gave nothing freely. Perhaps it wasn’t her he craved, but the satisfaction of taking what once belonged to his enemy.
With her father dead, was she the retribution?
Should she play the game, pull out Mrs Flavell’s red wrapper and act the coquette? Should she use Mr Hawke to secure her place for the month?
But she was not her father, nor her aunt. Not mean. Not manipulative. Not so obsessed with maintaining a facade that she’d sell her own kin.
Yet that wasn’t what made her face the truth.
She wanted him.
She wanted his mouth on hers.
She wanted the breathless rush she felt only with him.
Her body had already made the choice.
So she would do the only thing she could. Trust him.
She gathered the wool blanket around her shoulders and lifted her gaze to the heavens. The world was quiet, the night a vast inky ocean. It was a sight she’d admired countless times. To her, nothing was more beautiful than the sky above Shadowmere.
“You waited.” His voice was a slow stroke down her spine. “I wasn’t certain you would. Though you should have locked the cottage door.”
She glanced over her shoulder to find him filling the threshold. Strong. Masculine. Hers for the night.
No wonder people feared him. The collar of his greatcoat framed the hard angles of his face. The heavy wool exaggerated the breadth of his shoulders, and he seemed so impressively tall in the doorway.
“The adventurer returns,” she said playfully.
But there was nothing playful in the way he looked at her. It was the look of a man with one thing on his mind. Not chocolate. Not stars.
Her pulse stumbled as he closed the gap between them.
His fingers closed lightly around her wrist before she could step away.
Oh, she was in danger. In danger of acting on every wicked thought she’d had since meeting him. In danger of surrendering more than her pride.
“I rode as fast as I could. If it’s too late, we can meet tomorrow.”
The road dust clinging to his greatcoat made him look like he had chased the horizon to reach her door.
“It’s not too late.” She released the edge of her blanket and rubbed a smudge of dirt off his cheek. “Though you shouldn’t have hurried.” The knowledge that he had, warmed her more than the thick wool ever could.
“The devil himself wouldn’t have kept me away.” He drew her hand to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. “You’re cold.”
The tenderness of the gesture caught her off guard. “I was waiting. I didn’t know when, or if, you’d come.”
“I’ve thought of little else since I left you.”
Heat traced up her arm, curling tight in her chest and belly. She could spend every night like this, his hand wrapped around hers beneath the stars, his voice softened by the dark.
“You’re different tonight,” she said. “You’re only ever this honest when we’re dancing.”
“Perhaps I can hear music.” His thumb grazed her knuckles. “And it’s impossible to deny what exists between us when I’m holding you.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside her.
“Then let’s dance while we study the stars.” She slipped off the blanket and let it fall onto the grass, then slid her arms around his waist. “We can keep each other warm.”
“That’s all the invitation I need.”
His mouth claimed hers before they moved. His fingers threaded into her hair, anchoring her to him. Their bodies aligned without thought, as though the steps had been decided long ago.
The kiss was not gentle.
It was a collision of impatience and longing.
Whatever war he’d been waging with himself was over.
She felt it in the firmness of his mouth, in the way his hand held her steady. There was nothing uncertain in him now. Only a depth of want he no longer tried to disguise.
Her hands tightened at his waist, fingers pressing into the hard line of him beneath wool and linen. He tasted of night air and brandy, and something unmistakably male. When his tongue brushed the seam of her mouth, a soft sound escaped her before she could swallow it.
“I know we were supposed to drink chocolate,” he murmured against her mouth. “But I’m accustomed to taking what I want.”
His hand slid from her hair to the curve of her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, and she felt the tremor pass through him as surely as it did her.
“Another truth shared and we’re not even dancing.”
“We are.” He bent to her throat, his breath grazing her skin. “You can feel the rhythm where we touch. The unmistakable sway between your hips and mine.”
She could. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her breasts strained against the fabric, and his unmistakable hardness pressed against her, firm and insistent.
There was only one problem.
This wasn’t the dance she’d bargained for.
She would not have him mistake want for weakness. If Dominic Hawke wanted to touch her, he’d pay the price.
“We had an agreement, Mr Hawke.” She pushed against his chest, putting space between them. “I want chocolate and stars and secrets. Only then will we dance.”
His mouth curved. “Fine.”
She had not expected him to concede so easily.
“I’ll not touch you again until you beg.”
She smiled. “That almost sounds like a bet, sir.”
“Dominic,” he corrected softly. “It is. I like the odds, and I’m prepared to place a wager.”
“What’s the wager?”
“That we’ll kiss again before the chocolate cools.”
She lifted her chin, though she feared he was right. “That’s a foolish thing to say to a woman intent on proving a point.”
“Perhaps I’m confident in my ability to please you.”
And that would not do.
“Good. You can begin by shaking the blankets and setting out the chairs while I warm the chocolate on the hob grate.”
She didn’t want to linger by the fire when she was hot enough to crack the mercury, but she left him to play the hero.
There was a knack to creating the froth on top; it meant constant stirring with the molinet. The chocolate thickened slowly, rich with the smell of cocoa and spice. Her attention strayed, and she stole a glance around the doorjamb.
Either Dominic Hawke was cold now he’d removed his greatcoat, or he liked the scent of her blanket. He’d drawn it close, his hand moving over the softness as though committing the texture to memory.
He drew it around his shoulders and lowered himself into the chair, his legs set wide, claiming the space without apology.
Daphne hurried back to stir the chocolate, convinced she held the winning hand. All she had to do was resist him, until he learned she could not be handled at will.
She returned, balancing two cups of chocolate on porcelain saucers. “I added a little cinnamon to chase away the chill.”
He stood, his thumb brushing hers as he took the saucer and examined the pattern with mild curiosity. “Did you take all my grandmother’s china from the house?”
She kept her hand steady by force of will. “Forgive me. I didn’t know it was an heirloom. You did say to take whatever I wanted. And I’ve never seen a prettier set.”
He coughed, then pursed his lips, but a chuckle escaped.
“What’s so amusing? It is a pretty set.”
“Without doubt the prettiest I’ve seen.” His gaze dropped, though not to the porcelain. “Shall I hold yours while you sit, Miss Harland?”
“Certainly not. Your fingers are trembling. And if you mean to kiss me again tonight, you should call me Daphne.”
“If I call you angel, will I earn more than a kiss?”
Why did that endearment weaken her resolve?
“Such a word should be saved for a special moment.” A moment she was not ready to surrender. “A touch for a secret? That was our agreement.”
“A touch anywhere,” he reminded her.
“You play by the rules when it suits you, I see.”
He drew her saucer from her hand and placed it on the old wooden chair. “I make the rules. You know that.”
“Does that include stealing my blanket?” She drew it from his shoulders and wrapped it around her own. She could no longer smell rosewater, only his darker, masculine scent.
“I needed something to keep me warm while you were gone.”
They would kiss again. The air thrummed between them. A slow ache settled in the cradle of her hips. Despite the open sky, she could scarcely draw breath.
But she steeled herself.
He would need to earn it.
“Have you thought about what secret you might tell me?” She took her seat and accepted the chocolate drink from him, sipping as she waited for his answer.
He settled beside her, stretching out his legs, the breadth of his thighs a devious distraction. “I’ve no wish to rake up the past tonight. Let’s keep it playful. I’ll answer the question you asked at Mrs Flavell’s.”
She prayed he hadn’t heard the hitch in her breath. Did he know she had lain inches from him, staring into the dark, wondering what he would say if he dared?
“Which one?” she said coolly.
“If you mean to bluff, do it with conviction.” He sipped his chocolate, drew his tongue slowly over his lower lip, and gazed at the spangle of stars.
She couldn’t wait while he baited her. “Had you known we’d end up here, would you have asked me to dance at the Templeton ball?”
He didn’t look at her. “Yes. No woman deserves to spend her life beneath a man like Irving.”
It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.
Her throat tightened. It was her own fault for asking, for not realising this was only an inconvenient game to him. Why had she been foolish enough to fall under his spell?
She shifted in the seat, considering whether to pack her valise and leave under cover of darkness, or sip her drink and bide her time.
“If that’s the playful answer, I’m glad you spared me.”
Sweet mercy. Get up. Tell him it’s late. Send him away.
She drank her chocolate too quickly and burnt her tongue.
“And no,” he added. “The plan was simple. Yet it’s been anything but.”