A Gentleman Never Tells

chapter Eleven

Has fortune dealt you some bad cards? Then let wisdom make you a good gamester.

—Francis Quarles

Gabrielle was treading on unfamiliar ground. She hated to be late for anything. It went against her nature. It worried her if anyone had to wait for her, no matter for how short a time. She had fought the urge to race downstairs to meet Lord Brentwood the moment he was announced. Instead, she had paced in her room, making him wait for over an hour before gathering up her pelisse, bonnet, and gloves to make her way below stairs. From what she could tell, stepping on his toes and making him step on hers hadn’t seemed to do much to deter his desire to marry her. He took her bungling of the waltz in stride the way a perfect gentleman should. If she hadn’t been so stunned by his calm acceptance, she would have laughed when he said all she needed was a few more lessons. That was not what she’d wanted to hear. But since that little episode hadn’t worked at all, she had been thinking up new ways to annoy the viscount.

From her father, she knew that few gentlemen could abide a lady who was habitually late. She was hoping her tardiness would add another unacceptable trait to the list he must now be forming about her. But just in case, Gabrielle had more than one card up her sleeve. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance. She was going to add as many uncomplimentary things about herself as she could while they waited for her betrothal to Staunton to be dissolved.

It wasn’t easy for her to play the part of a twit, but she had to believe if she annoyed Lord Brentwood enough, he was sure to give her up as unredeemable and insist to her father that he couldn’t marry a young lady who was so inept at so many things.

She smiled as she slipped her velvet drawstring reticule over her hand. She had written some dreadfully long and uninspired poetry and had it tucked in her purse, ready to pull it out at the most inopportune time and read it to him. Considering the extreme look of anguish she saw on Lord Brentwood’s face when he’d heard Lord Snellingly recite his poetry, her attempt at verse should have the viscount running for the country to get away from her.

Much to her surprise and puzzlement, when she made it to the bottom of the stairs, she heard talking and laughter coming from the drawing room. She had expected to find him extremely annoyed or, at the very least, to hear Lord Brentwood pacing from sheer boredom as she had been doing in her room. She hurried down the corridor and, when she rounded the doorway, she saw Lord Brentwood and her aunt in delightful humor, playing a game of cards across the small table that sat between the two settees.

He certainly wasn’t in the dither she’d hoped to find him. Far from it. He looked as if he was actually enjoying himself with her aunt. Gabrielle was the one who felt flushed, out of breath, and annoyed that he wasn’t. Obviously, being late wasn’t going to provoke him as long as Auntie Bethie was around to amuse him.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Brentwood, for taking so long,” she said, walking into the room.

Lord Brentwood laid his cards on the table, rose, and let his gaze linger on her face, causing a shiver of awareness. She saw appreciation in his eyes for the way she looked, and she liked that he let her know. She wore a dark beige carriage dress with a dark brown velvet pelisse covering most of it. She held a matching bonnet in her hand, and her brown velvet reticule dangled from her gloved wrist.

The viscount looked amazingly handsome in a dark blue jacket over a pale blue waistcoat adorned with ivory-colored buttons. His slim-cut, fawn-colored trousers were stuffed into shiny black boots that had decorative silver buckles at the ankles and emphasized his long, powerful legs. She swallowed hard when she noticed the jagged cut and swelling at the corner of his mouth where Staunton had hit him. The injury made him look all the more handsome, roguish, and unattainable. But she was most captivated by how relaxed and casual he seemed in her home, playing cards and conversing with her aunt.

Gabrielle had the unusual urge to stomp her foot in frustration. Why wasn’t he upset and irritated that she was so late? Her father would have been red-faced with anger and pacing at the bottom of the stairs, shouting for her to hurry. Obviously, she was going to have to try harder in order to displease the very likable Lord Brentwood.

“Your tardiness wasn’t a problem for me, but the wait was made better when fortune smiled on me. Mrs. Potter came along and saw me sitting here alone. We started talking about cards.”

“Yes,” Auntie Bethie said, picking up the story. “And Lord Brentwood was kind enough to show me a few pointers.”

“Nonsense, Auntie,” Gabrielle said with a smile and then reached down and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “You may have fooled Lord Brentwood for a time with your cunning ways, but you know you cannot fool me. You are an excellent card player and need no instruction from anyone.”

“I can always learn a thing or two from a handsome gentleman.”

“Not at cards.” Gabrielle smiled. “No doubt you were trying to win some blunt off him, and if you did, you must give it back right now.”

“Never, my darling. The money I won is all mine.” Her aunt laughed, reached up, and patted Gabrielle’s cheek affectionately. “And if that is the kind of disrespect you are going to show your favorite aunt, you can put on your bonnet and leave for the park straightaway.”

“Perhaps we should, before you have the viscount thinking you are a helpless lady in need of rescuing.” Gabrielle turned to Lord Brentwood. “Shall we go?”

“I’m ready,” he said to Gabrielle and then turned to her aunt. “Thank you for a lovely visit, Mrs. Potter.”

“Remember, if you’re not back in two hours, I’ll come looking for you,” her aunt called in a friendly tone as they left the room.

“We certainly don’t want that, Auntie,” Gabrielle threw over her shoulder.

Lord Brentwood paused at the doorway and said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Potter, we won’t be late.”

“See that you aren’t. I’m growing quite fond of you and I don’t want that to change.”

Gabrielle and Lord Brentwood stopped in the vestibule to pick up her parasol, cape, and gloves, and his coat, hat, and gloves. While he donned his outer clothing, Brutus came walking down the corridor. Her heart went out to the lumbering old dog as she tied the ribbon of her rush-brimmed bonnet under her chin.

On impulse, she turned to Lord Brentwood and asked, “Would you mind terribly if Brutus came with us?”

Lord Brentwood looked at Brutus and then back to Gabrielle. She saw the corner of his lips twitch just a bit as he hesitated before answering. She held her breath.

She could see it was on the tip of his tongue to deny her request, but instead he put a smile on his face, looked down at the dog, and said, “Of course not. Brutus and I are old friends now, aren’t we?”

Gabrielle let out her breath and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, my lord. He won’t be any trouble at all.”

When they reached the carriage, which was parked on the street in front of her house, he helped her step up and into the curricle. While she seated herself, he looked down at Brutus and said, “Come on, boy, you’re next. Up you go.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord,” Gabrielle said with concern. “Brutus is too old to climb steps without a boost. I’ll go get Muggs to help him into the carriage for us.” She started to rise.

“No, no,” he said, holding up his hand to stop her. “Sit back down, Lady Gabrielle. No need to disturb your footman. I’m perfectly capable of helping Brutus get into the carriage.”

As if knowing exactly what to do, Brutus immediately put his front paws on the first step of the curricle, looked back at Lord Brentwood, and gave a short woof. The viscount reached down and gently grasped him under the stomach with one arm and, with the other, cupped the back of his hind legs and carefully lifted the dog. A passing phaeton slowed and the driver asked if Lord Brentwood needed help, but he shook his head and called out, “I’ve got it handled.”

It was a bit of a struggle for him at first, but he managed to get Brutus onto the floor of the small carriage, where he slowly lay down.

With a teasing smile, Lord Brentwood brushed dog hair from his coat and said, “Did I mention that you have a big dog?”

When the viscount was so charming, she had to remind herself he was being forced to marry her, and she didn’t want that for him or for herself. She must remember her plan and do all she could to convince him she would not be a good wife. But looking at him now, she knew that would be hard to do.

Gabrielle laughed lightly to cover the good feeling that washed over her from simply looking at him. She smiled and patted the panting dog on the head.

“But he is such a darling, and I know it pains him to be so much trouble to everyone.”

“You are obviously a good master,” Lord Brentwood said as he carefully climbed into the carriage, trying not to step on the dog’s large paws. “But I don’t think darling is the word I would use for the mastiff, Lady Gabrielle. He cares not for trouble. He’s just happy to be going along for the ride.”

The viscount sat down beside her on the padded bench. She immediately felt the heat of his body as his thigh settled brazenly against hers. She knew she should move away and give him more space on the seat, but there was something intimately comforting about the slight touch from him, and she didn’t want to deny herself his warmth.

“You know you can’t keep doing this.”

His eyes narrowed, and he seemed puzzled for a moment. “What’s that?”

“You said I had promised you a dance when I hadn’t, and you said we had planned to go for a ride today in the park, yet you had never asked me to go with you this afternoon.”

His eyes narrowed further. His gaze settled gently on her face and he questioned, “Really?”

Gabrielle watched as Lord Brentwood reached for a wool blanket from underneath the seat. All his hand found was dog. The small curricle was not the carriage he needed if Brutus was going to join them. He finally caught an edge of the blanket, pulled it out, and laid it over her lap.

“Yes, and you know it,” she admonished with a soft smile. “You cannot continue to just assume we have made plans and I will go along with whatever you say.”

He smiled, and she noticed it was a little crooked from the swollen corner. “It’s worked for me so far. Why mess up a good plan?”

Gabrielle suddenly felt wistful and said, “Because I would like to have a say about my life, about what I do. I want to be in on making the decisions that affect me, the decisions as simple as where we go together.”

“All right, it’s your turn. Tell me what you would like for us to do after this outing.”

Though he sounded genuine, Gabrielle wasn’t sure she trusted him. “You will let me decide?”

He gave her a curious look, as if he wondered why she questioned his sincerity. “Yes, of course. What do you want to do?”

His insistence that she could choose surprised her. “Well, I don’t know yet. I will have to think about it.”

He clicked the ribbons on the horses’ rumps and the carriage took off with a jerk, rattle of harness, and clopping of hooves.

After he had safely maneuvered them into the street behind a hackney, he threw a smiling glance her way, and said, “Fine. You can let me know when you’ve decided. You have approximately two hours to think about it.”

Gabrielle settled comfortably into her seat and opened her brown ruffled parasol. The rain and dreary weather of the past few days had lifted. A light blue afternoon sky was filled with puffy white clouds. The air felt cold and breezy, but with the bright sunshine and Lord Brentwood’s thigh next to hers, Gabrielle felt very warm. She wasn’t sure why, but an exciting sense of awareness bubbled up inside her. Something told her it was going to be a splendid afternoon.

She looked down to see if Brutus was settled, and her breath stalled in her lungs. The dog’s mouth was poised over Lord Brentwood’s feet. Brutus’s drool and slobber from his exertion of getting into the carriage was dripping onto the toe of one of Lord Brentwood’s highly polished boots.

As she tried to decide if she should tell the viscount to move his feet, or simply try to shift the big body of the dog, Lord Brentwood asked, “Is everything all right?”

Gabrielle turned and looked up at the same time Lord Brentwood bent his head to glance down. The edge of her parasol hit the brim of his hat and knocked it off his head. The strong wind caught the top hat and sent it flying like a kite through the air and over the curricle behind them. He pulled hard on the ribbons to stop the horses. She and Lord Brentwood looked back in time to see his hat land crown-up in a wide mud puddle on the other side of the road. He set the brake and turned to jump down but stopped as a shiny painted barouche passed by, the wheels splashing black muddy water all over the hat.

“Oh, no!” Gabrielle gasped. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”

She expected him to start yelling at her how it was his favorite hat, or how expensive it would be to replace it, as her father would have done, but that didn’t happen. Instead of anger, Lord Brentwood was merely looking with detachment at the soiled hat floating in the puddle.

“I’ll get it for you,” she said, starting to remove the blanket covering her legs.

“No,” he said, placing his hand on top of hers to still her.

She looked down at his black gloved hand lying over hers. There was no shake or quiver of fury in his touch. No anger. Her father would have been furious at her.

“But, my lord, I can see it was an exceptional hat. Perhaps I can have it cleaned.”

“It’s no matter, Lady Gabrielle. Look over there.” He pointed to a street urchin not far away who was wistfully eyeing the hat. “Let him have it. Maybe he can salvage it and make a shilling or two off it. I have others.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Lord Brentwood turned away and released the brake, picked up the ribbons, and started the horses to moving again. She hadn’t wanted to ruin his hat, but with any luck, he’d add it to the growing list of things that would one day make him realize she was not the wife for him.

They were both quiet the rest of the short ride to the park. She had no idea what the viscount was thinking, but she knew she was quickly counting up all the things that made Lord Brentwood different from her father.

There were only a few people in the park as they entered from the east side. That was to be expected, since it was windy, cold, and a weekday. Lord Brentwood took his time and searched for just the right place to stop, which was a level stretch of land not too far from the Serpentine. There was a crop of trees to break the wind but still sunny enough to help keep them warm.

He set the brake on the curricle and jumped down. He first helped Brutus make it down the two steps and then reached back to help Gabrielle.

She closed her parasol and laid it on the seat before taking his hand. “I don’t think I’ll need this.”

He grinned. “And I might be safer if you don’t have it with you.”

Gabrielle laughed as she took his hand and stepped down.

Lord Brentwood took the blanket that had covered her legs and spread it on the ground, and then he walked back to the carriage to get the food basket from underneath the seat. “I hope you like what my cook prepared for us. Warm—” He stopped mid-sentence when he glanced back and saw that Brutus had staked out his claim right in the middle of the small blanket and was making himself comfortable.

But without missing another beat, Lord Brentwood looked at her and said, “Warm chocolate, bread, cheese, and fig preserves.”

Gabrielle started to tell Brutus to move and would have, except on second thought, she knew her dog’s antics were working right into her plan to make the viscount see how unsuitable she was to be his wife. It was best he know that wherever she went Brutus went, and the dog always got special treatment.

“It all sounds wonderful to me,” she said to him and walked over to the blanket.

She gave Lord Brentwood her hand, and he helped her to sit on a corner. He lowered himself on the opposite side of her, leaving the food basket as a barrier between them. She slipped her reticule off her wrist and pretended not to see him looking curiously at the toe of his boot that Brutus had christened with his slobber.

After taking off his gloves and scarf and unbuttoning his overcoat, the first thing he did was to pull out a flask and pour warm chocolate into a delicate china cup and hand it to her. She sipped the drink and watched in silence as he laid pieces of bread and containers holding butter and preserves onto the napkin the cup had been wrapped in.

“Mmm, this chocolate is wonderful, my lord, but has a strange taste to it.”

“That might be because it’s laced with a little brandy. I thought it might help keep you warm.”

“I’ve never had chocolate with brandy, and it does make my cheeks feel warm.”

“It also makes them turn a lovely shade of pink.”

“Really?” she said, touching her cheek.

Gabrielle set the cup aside. She felt wonderful sitting on the blanket under a tree with the viscount. She felt so happy and so free, she did the unthinkable and took off her gloves and laid them beside her.

She broke off a piece of bread and buttered it with the small knife he’d brought. “Will you tell me what happened between you and Staunton?”

Lord Brentwood popped a piece of bread loaded with fig preserves into his mouth and swallowed before saying, “There’s nothing to tell. There were very few words spoken between us.”

Gabrielle thought for a moment. Staunton had always been a man of few words. She’d actually had very few conversations with him during their engagement. When they had first become engaged, he’d often sought her out, always wanting her to take walks with him in the garden, or if they were at parties, to go out on the terrace with him. It hadn’t taken her long to realize all he wanted to do was kiss her, and that held no appeal to her, so she’d stopped going anywhere with him. He’d soon stopped asking. And that was obviously when he started noticing her sister and fell in love with her.

“Is it true he just walked up to you and hit you?”

The viscount gave her a crooked smile. “You know, Lady Gabrielle, I have only one thing to say about my encounter with Mr. Staunton. I might have hit a man, too, if I thought he’d stolen my fiancée from me. In fact, I might have done more than he did.”

“But Staunton didn’t want to marry me because—” Gabrielle caught herself before she revealed the truth about Staunton and Rosabelle. She quickly popped a piece of bread in her mouth.

“Staunton didn’t want to marry you because of what?”

She struggled to come up with something, but words were failing her. She needed to say something that would make herself sound like a dreadful person. Without thinking clearly, she quickly blurted out, “Because I have a nasty temper, and I’ve been known to throw things.”

“At Staunton?”

She hesitated. “No, others,” she said, sensing Lord Brentwood didn’t believe her for a moment, and she was only digging the hole she was standing in deeper. “Believe me, no man should have to abide a woman as ill-tempered as I.”

He sipped his chocolate and looked at her thoughtfully. “Did Staunton ever tell you that?”

She looked at Lord Brentwood. He was still waiting for an answer, so she said, “No, not in those words exactly. But take my word for it: he did not want to marry me.”

“All right,” he said calmly. “I’ll believe you.” He added more chocolate to their cups. “But what about you? Why didn’t you want to marry him?”

Gabrielle hesitated. How had she allowed them to get this far into a conversation about Staunton? She immediately started looking for a way out of it.

“I didn’t object at first when my father told me he’d picked Staunton for me. I’m sorry he hit you and cut your lip again.”

A half laugh blew past his lips and he shrugged. “Yes, it wouldn’t have been so bad if Staunton had caught me on the other side, but his fist landed where my lip had just healed.”

Her eyes searched his. Suddenly, everything around them was very quiet. On impulse, Gabrielle reached over and touched the injured side of his mouth with the pads of her fingers. He took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it while his gaze searched her face.

“The care and concern I see in your eyes isn’t necessary,” he said. “It’s almost well and doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“But it was because of me that Staunton hit you.”

He gave her a half smile. “A small price to pay for such sweet kisses.” His gaze stayed steady on hers. “Do you mind if I kiss you right now?”

Her heart rate soared, and she felt hot, even though a cool breeze chilled the air. Why was he asking? Staunton had kissed her often and he had never once asked if he could. He would always just pull her into his arms and kiss her without any warning. But then, she had never wanted Staunton’s kisses.

Did she mind? She was eager for this man to kiss her.

“No,” she whispered.

Reaching over the basket, Lord Brentwood bent his head and lightly brushed his warm, moist, and pliant lips over hers. She tasted the sweetness of the jam he’d just eaten, and a quickening tightened her abdomen. The viscount’s kiss was gentle and satisfying, much more pleasant than Staunton’s kisses had been. She wanted it to go on forever, but it ended far too quickly.

She moistened her lips and asked, “Why did you ask permission for a kiss?”

“That’s what a gentleman is supposed to do the first time he kisses a lady.”

“But we’ve—” She stopped.

“I know,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “We’ve kissed before, but it was you who initiated our first kiss, wasn’t it?”

She nodded again and lowered her lashes over her eyes, embarrassed by how brazen she’d been that morning in the park.

“I didn’t mind, you know,” he said.

“Didn’t you think it made me seem a very loose lady to have done that?”

“Very,” he said with a slight grin as his arms tightened about her.

“And being loose makes me completely unacceptable as a titled man’s wife, doesn’t it?”

His expression turned serious, and his eyes darkened. “No. You can kiss me again any time you want to. I will never rebuff you, and wanting to kiss me will never make you unsuitable as my wife.”

Exasperation settled over her. If that didn’t make her undesirable as a wife in his eyes, she didn’t know what would. She should be furious he wanted her to be so fresh and free. Until she had met him, she had lived a life above reproach and had never been anything but circumspect in the company of a man. But all that was forgotten whenever Lord Brentwood was near her. She had found far too many things to like about him.

Gabrielle looked deeply into his eyes and remembered the breathtaking embrace they’d shared that morning more than two weeks ago. The memories of his tempting kisses fused with what she was feeling now, and she wanted him to kiss her again as he had that day. The desiring look in his hooded eyes left her no doubt he wanted to kiss her that way again too.

And that was not a good idea. She couldn’t examine her feelings for him beyond her intense desire to keep this man from being forced to wed her. She had to put a stop to the way he was making her feel, and she had to do it quickly. She reached behind her and grabbed her reticule off the blanket and fumbled inside it, finally drawing out her sheet of poetry.

She found it difficult to steady her cold fingers as she unfolded the paper. “Since you seemed to enjoy Lord Snellingly’s poetry so much a few nights ago, I thought perhaps I’d read you some of mine.

“In the shadows of a cold night, my fragile dreams…”

Lord Brentwood reached over and slipped the foolscap out of her hands and dropped it to the ground behind him. “I don’t think so, Gabrie.”

“No?” she whispered.

“No,” he answered with a smile. “We’ll let the wind read it.”

He shoved the food basket out of his way so suddenly it knocked over her cup and disturbed Brutus’s slumber. He growled, a low woof sound.

“Stay out of this, Brutus,” Lord Brentwood said and moved closer to Gabrielle.

He positioned his legs in the opposite direction from hers and pulled up his knees so she could rest her side against his thighs. He slid his arms around her, pulling her close.

“I can think of a far better way to spend our time in the park than reading poetry. Tell me how you like this.”

His hold on her was possessive as he lowered his head to hers. Gabrielle instinctively closed her eyes. His lips pressed against hers and moved languorously over them. She parted her lips, allowing his tongue to slip inside and probe the depths of her mouth. The kiss was generous and glorious. At times she heard short, gaspy breaths, and sometimes she heard long contented sighs, but had no idea if the sounds came from her or Lord Brentwood. She loved the way his lips roved expertly across hers, loved the taste of brandy and chocolate that lingered on his tongue.

He raised his head and looked down at her with his crooked smile and asked, “Well?”

“I do believe you are right. Kissing is much better than reading poetry.”

Lord Brentwood chuckled, and with all thoughts of verse fading from her mind, Gabrielle slipped her arms inside his coat and around his waist. His body was warm and inviting. She drew him closer to her. There was something decidedly rebellious and thrilling about being in his arms and kissing him in the bright light of sunshine, and suddenly she was aware of nothing but the ecstasy she felt in his arms.

His hand found the ribbon under her chin and he untied it. He gently pulled the bonnet off and set it aside. She felt his fingers at her throat as he pulled on the bow of her short velvet cape and let it fall away from her shoulders. With ease, he unfastened her velvet pelisse and opened it, exposing her scooped-neck carriage dress. His lips left hers and kissed their way down the column of her throat to the part of her chest that was exposed by the neckline of her dress. The touch of his warm lips on her cool skin excited her.

He rested his open palm on her breast over her heart, and she wondered if he could feel the constant pounding that sounded like a loud drum in her ears. She knew what she was allowing him to do was beyond the pale, but she had discarded all caution and reasoning the moment his lips met hers. She had no inclination to stop him until, in the distance, she heard the sound of carriage wheels.

Startled, she tried to pull out of his arms.

“Wait,” he whispered.

Without letting go of her, Lord Brentwood leaned forward and carefully peeked around the trunk of the tree directly in front of them.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he whispered, brushing aside her concern and scooting even closer to her. “The carriage is far away and not coming in this direction. I can see around the tree and I will keep watch. I will not let anyone catch me kissing you.”

When he looked down at her, she touched the side of his mouth again and said, “Didn’t it hurt to kiss me so passionately?”

He smiled and outlined her lips with the tip of his finger. “It didn’t hurt at all.” He placed his lips on hers again and whispered against them, “Your mouth is so soft, sweet, and gentle, it could never hurt me to kiss you.”

Her mouth opened and met his once more. She didn’t know why, but she felt an inexplicable feeling of urgency. His kisses bruised over hers hungrily, and she matched his furor. His arms wrapped tightly around her back, crushing her to him. Her tongue filled his mouth, and it pleased her when she heard him swallow soft gasps of pleasure.

His hand skimmed over her breasts, causing her breathing to be erratic. There were the sounds of men talking in the distance, and Gabrielle stiffened in his arms once again. Lord Brentwood looked up and leaned forward.

He gazed down at her and, with the pad of his finger, drew a line from her lips down to the hollow of her throat, and let his finger rest there. “We are safe here, Gabrie.”

She took in a deep, relaxing breath and settled more comfortably against his legs. She smiled her pleasure at being so close to him and so free to be able to enjoy all the wonderful sensations he created inside her with just a touch and a kiss.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me Gabrie.”

He nodded as his hands moved over her breasts, up to her face, where his fingers drew circles and patterns around her lips, on her cheeks, down her neck, and over to her earlobe, where he softly caressed it. She could hardly concentrate on what she wanted to say for the wonder of all she was feeling.

“My family nickname is Gabby,” she finally got out.

His eyes and forehead formed into a frown as his fingers trickled down to her chest and rested on her breast again. “And I think it’s fine for them to call you Gabby, but I like Gabrie, and that is what I will start calling you.”

“It would be forward of you to do that in front of anyone, my lord.”

“Indeed, but I think I like being forward. I want you to call me Brent. I don’t want to hear you say ‘my lord’ to me anymore.”

“That’s extremely improper, and I know my father wouldn’t approve of that, and certainly not of the kisses and intimate caresses we are sharing now.”

He smiled and bent his head toward hers. “No, he wouldn’t approve, but right now I don’t want you proper. I don’t care about what the duke thinks. I am Brent, you are Gabrie, and we are going to kiss. Understand?”

No matter how delicious his kisses were making her feel, she had the presence of mind to know that enjoying his embrace was not part of her plan to convince him she would not be an acceptable wife for him. She had to do something to break the spell of desire he’d cast over her.

Taking a long breath, she moistened her lips and said, “Did I ever tell you madness runs in my family?”

His eyes narrowed, his forehead wrinkled into a frown, and he leaned back as if to get a better look at her. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, from my father’s side of the family. There have been many relatives, and going back for several generations.”

His gaze searched her face curiously. “No, I meant why did you bring it up now?”

Gabrielle moistened her lips again. Telling prevarications wasn’t as easy as she’d thought, and obviously what she’d always heard was true. If you tell one, you’ll most assuredly have to tell another to explain the first.

“I felt I needed to warn you before you thought further on marriage with me.”

His lips slowly eased into another smile, and she knew he didn’t believe her for a moment.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind to think on later, but for now, I’m going to kiss you.”

And he did.

His lips lowered to hers again, and this time he kissed her softly at first but then deeply and passionately. His lips moved from hers, across her cheek, and over her jawline, to the delicate spot behind her ear. He breathed in deeply. Her skin pebbled with delicious goose bumps. He kissed the lobe of her ear on his way down to the hollow of her throat, swirling his tongue in its shallow depths and lingering there to tease, taste, and moisten her skin. His hand gently massaged her breasts, and she moaned softly.

Gabrielle was hardly breathing. She felt as though her insides were twisting, folding, and floating into a wonderful and exciting knot of desire. His touch was thrilling. Through the fabric of her dress and stays, he palmed her breast, lifted it, and closed his fingers around it, squeezing gently yet firmly.

She didn’t understand why she had no inhibitions when she was in his arms. Shivers of delight bolted through her at breakneck speed at his touch. She was amazed at how much enjoyment she received from the caress of his hands. She couldn’t let her hands be still, either. She was eager to explore and enjoy everything about him, from the silky feel of his hair to the expensive fabric of his coat beneath her hands. She was succumbing to a brand new world that she had never experienced before.

Some of their kisses were soft and warm, while others were fierce and passionate. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was like to want a man to desire her, love her, and it was an exhilarating feeling. She boldly slid her tongue deep into his mouth again, and he muffled a groan.

“If I could remove your dress, I know your breast would fit perfectly into my hand,” he whispered passionately against her lips. “I would warm it with my mouth.”

He raised his head and looked into her eyes, as if considering the possibility of undressing her, and God help her, she was considering the possibility of letting him.

All of a sudden, his head jerked to the side and he said, “Did you hear that?”

“What?” she whispered from the fog of passion. “Is someone coming toward us?”

Then she heard it, the bark of a small dog. Gabrielle noticed Brutus had roused his head and was looking in the direction of the barking, too.

“That sounds like Prissy,” she said and shoved out of Lord Brentwood’s arms.