Cates, Kimberly (20 page)

"There is not one of the women under Juliet's protection that tempts me," Adam said. It was the truth. There was only one woman he wanted—and that was Juliet herself.

His gaze snagged Juliet's for a heartbeat, and he knew the same certainty was flooding through her. She all but dove down to gather up the foxglove. When she rose again, it was with the dignity of an embattled queen.

"Good day, Mr. Rutledge," she said, putting the blossoms into the man's white hands. "I do hope you'll still come for tea as usual next Tuesday."

She invited the vulture to tea? Hell yes, and probably dosed the concoction with barrels full of sugar in an attempt to sweeten the dour idiot's disposition.

Rutledge drew himself up to his full height. "I'll not set foot in Angel's Fall as long as this man is on the premises! To do so would be to grant my tacit approval. And I withhold it, adamantly."

Did it matter to her? This caricature of a man's approval? The thought nettled Adam beyond bearing. But there was something fragile in Juliet's features as she smoothed one of her curls back inside the ruffle of lace cap that caressed her cheek. And Adam saw, with an unexpected flash of insight, a little girl with golden curls and a vicar father, wishing desperately for approval—the same way Adam had when he'd been a grubby-faced boy. Lord, what a secret poison that desire could be!

What had it cost her to defy all of London? To walk down the streets, feeling the press of loathing-filled eyes upon her? The scorn of everyone from coachmen to ballad sellers. The pointed swish of catty women sweeping their skirts away from her as they passed, so as not to be tainted by so much as brushing against her?

Something twisted deep in Adam's gut as he remembered another woman enduring just such slights, her head tilted up with pride, a smile of determined cheerfulness upon her face. His own mother...

"Whether you come to Angel's Fall or not is your choice, of course," Juliet shattered his musings, addressing Rutledge with gentle dignity. "Your place at the table will always be open. Do let me know when you need more fairyfingers for your tea. I'll be happy to gather some or you're welcome to pick them yourself." With that, she turned and walked away.

Adam stood, arms crossed over his chest, masking the astonishing twinge of pain he felt with a rascally grin of triumph. "It seems the lady doesn't give a damn about your approval, adamant or otherwise," he said, wishing to hell it was true. "Considering all the other mischief she's been up to, who would have guessed she was a woman of such good sense?"

Rutledge was trembling with wrath. "Play out whatever game you're dabbling in, Slade!" He jabbed a finger at Adam's chest. "I know what you are! A man who cares for nothing, no one but his own selfish pleasures. The time will come when you tire of this amusement. And then, you'll leave Miss Grafton-Moore alone. When that happens, I'll be waiting."

"With that wedding ring she's already rejected?" Adam was stunned by the rush of fury and futility that jolted through him. "Perhaps Miss Grafton-Moore and I will surprise you, Rutledge, and settle down with her ladies in a bouse in the country."

Who would have suspected that such simple, impossible words could make a man trip over an unexpected chasm in his own soul?

"Mock me, Slade! Mock me!" Rutledge raged. "There is only one thing I wonder—will you be still be laughing when Angel's Fall lies in ashes around Juliet's feet?"

Adam watched Rutledge storm away, Juliet's fairyfingers crushed heedlessly in his hands. A trickle of foreboding dripped down his spine, pooling in the place in his gut where his instincts lay.

Blast, he had no fear that he'd protect her from Rutledge's throngs of torch-wielding cutthroats or even from Lord Darlington's minions. He'd defeated legions of such foes in the past.

There was far greater danger of leaving something else in ashes when he walked away from Angel's Fall forever—the fragile dreams he'd glimpsed in Juliet's eyes when he'd kissed her.

A shudder worked through him, so deep it shook the very marrow of his bones—a fierce, primal need Juliet had released from its cage with her soft angel's kisses and tears that had dampened the scars upon his palms and others that lashed far deeper....

Adam's jaw clenched, and he slammed the garden gate shut, locking it tight. But it didn't matter.

His most dangerous enemy was still inside—a knight's hunger for his lady fair trapped in a forgotten corner of the warrior's heart Adam had thought buried long ago.

Chapter 10

Juliet stormed into the tiny garden house and sagged down onto a cushion-strewn bench, burying her face in one dirt-smudged hand. Adam Slade was insufferable! Charging up to poor Barnabas Rutledge like one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, fire fairly shooting from his eyes, just burning to start a fight.

What in the name of heaven had she gotten herself into? she wondered for the hundredth time in the days since the confrontation in Ranelagh Gardens. Iron bars on the windows, new locks on the door. A growling bear of a man prowling around snarling out orders, and following her about as if she were a particularly troublesome meal he wasn't about to let escape him.

A wild twinge of hysteria bubbled in her chest. What was she? Someone who
craved
punishment? There had been enough mayhem to satisfy the most dedicated of disaster-mongers at Angel's Fall with threats flying and enraged mobs charging about. But no. That hadn't been miserable enough for Juliet Grafton-Moore. She'd had to invite Adam Slade right in the front door.

The whole situation would have been enough to drive any sane woman mad. But it seemed she'd already lost her mind, because despite all the snapping and snarling and surliness inherent in Adam Slade's residence at Angel's Fall, there was some traitorous corner of Juliet's heart that actually
liked
having him here.

She'd done her best to deny it, avoiding him like a skittish doe, all but diving out of his way whenever possible. But she hadn't been able to escape the gruff rasp of his voice emanating from some other part of the house as he snapped orders at Fletcher or growled something at the ladies.

She hadn't been able to keep her eyes from his rugged features, his warrior's body, seated across from her at the long mahogany dining table. And late at night, in the darkness, she felt the soft pulsings of pain radiating from every scar that marked those powerful hands, and heard again how gentle his voice could be.

Most perilous of all, she'd relived their kiss beneath the lanterns of Ranelagh Gardens so many times that the feel of his mouth seemed branded upon hers, the places where his hands had touched her tingling and burning and aching for the return of that caress.

He'd infused lightning into her veins, an intoxicating mixture of wantonness and fear, desperate curiosity to learn more—what lay beneath that pirate's smile and those ebony eyes, to plumb the depths of the pain he'd brushed aside in his tale about his brother. And to discover the secrets of her own flesh he'd promised to unlock with his hands and his mouth, and the gruff moan of surrender that had shaken his stalwart form at the searing intimacy of his tongue sweeping against her own.

Juliet hugged her arms tight against her ribs, trembling, horrified at the impact the mere thought of the man could have upon her senses. An impact that increased a hundredfold whenever he was in the vicinity.

Most distressing, most miraculously wonderful of all was the knowledge that he had changed her forever, as certainly as the fairytale prince who had kissed a sleeping beauty awake. How many times in the months after Jenny had dashed away from Northwillow had Juliet regarded her with pity, certain that with just a little determination, Jenny could have resisted the charms of the dashing squire's son who had convinced her to run away with him?

Juliet had mourned her dearest friend and cousin, worried about her constantly. Prayed that the fairytale ending Jenny so desperately dreamed of would indeed come true. Yet now, within the shadowy musty confines of the garden house, with only discarded pots and spades and rakes standing sentinel in the corner, Juliet could admit that her compassion had been tinged with a poisonous drop of arrogance.

Juliet had been absolutely certain that she would never drift into the same treacherous waters Jenny had sailed, that no man would ever tempt her onto the rocky shoals of her own destruction.

How could she have guessed what mesmerizing power a pair of ebony eyes could hold? How velvety hot a man's mouth could feel upon her own, initiating her into a world of thunderous pleasure and primal need? How could she suspect that he could sweep away all her rigidly held ideals with one touch of his strong hands and sprinkle Stardust in her eyes?

A tremor shook Juliet to the soles of her slippers and she caught her lip between her teeth. She wanted Adam Slade. Wanted to feel the virile planes and hollows of his body against her own in the tumbled coverlets upon her bed, wanted him to reveal even more of the potent secrets of pleasure that lay behind his insufferable smile. Wanted to see fires of adoration flicker like living flame beneath his thick lashes.

Her eyes slid closed, her nipples tight against the fabric of her shift, all her secret places tingling with need. Merciful heavens, was it possible that she was...
falling in love with him?
A jolt of raw panic pierced her like a well-shot arrow, its impact quivering in every nerve in her body.

What insane folly that would be—to surrender her heart to a man, any man. Especially Adam Slade. Her work was far too important to jeopardize.

But every sardonic sneer that had curved that sensual mouth flashed in her memory, the hard shell of cynicism encasing him like the armor that shielded knights of old.

Yet where such knights had been willing to sacrifice their very souls to the fires of hell for love, Adam Slade wanted nothing but to ride away, unfettered by such emotions, free of any sort of commitment, to Juliet or to the gangly youth, Fletcher, who idolized him.

There would come a time when Adam would break the boy's heart, Juliet knew instinctively, severing the bonds of his adoration with a ruthlessness he perceived as mercy. And if Adam ever suspected the emotions he'd loosed in her, he would do the same. He was the embodiment of every heartache Juliet had seen reflected in the eyes of the ladies of the street she'd gathered in Angel's Fall, every impossible passion, every glittering future that could never be.

He was the tempting apple in her very own Garden of Eden, and if she ever took a bite of what he offered, it would mean the end of everything she'd tried to build here.

She knew it in her head. If only she could convince her heart.

The sound of the garden-house door slamming open tore a cry from her throat, and she wheeled around to find Adam towering in the doorway.

For an instant, she thought he'd followed her to the garden house, and her heart gave a wild flutter, but then she saw the dismay in his features, the pieces of an iron latch in his hand.

He recovered in a heartbeat, flashing her a devilishly handsome sneer. "Come in here to dab a little essence of garden dirt on your pulse points to captivate your ardent suitor?"

The words were cold, a little cruel, but beneath his cynical facade, Juliet saw something in his face that would send him running out of the shed like the basest of cowards if he suspected it was there—the tiniest glimmer of dread. Dread of what? The power the kiss had unleashed between them? Or that she might entertain some affection for poor Barnabas Rutledge?

She stood up, trying to keep her knees from trembling as she smoothed the folds of her embroidered apron. "I told you from the beginning, I have no desire to
captivate
any man," she said briskly.

Adam gave an ugly snort. "You seem to be collecting a fair share of admirers. Rutledge, bumbling at your back gate like the fool he is. Fletcher—hell, the boy would cut out his heart if you asked him."

The need to jab at him cast any sense of caution to the wind. "Well, neither of them has kissed me."

Was relief the emotion that almost overcame his surliness? It took him but a moment to shutter it away. "That kiss was a mistake," he ground out. "One you can be damned certain I won't be making again."

That was what she wanted to hear, wasn't it? Reassurance that it would never happen again. Why was it, then, that his words hurt her more than she dreamed possible? What had happened to the man who had gazed into her eyes in the garden at Ranelagh, his warrior-king features so haunted and filled with yearning, his voice roughened with feeling as she wept over his hands? The man who had bared secret places in his soul to her?

She stopped, suddenly. He'd been rampaging around the house like a wounded bear because he was—what? Ashamed to have shown her the slightest vulnerability? This man who had spent a lifetime burying his tender feelings, hiding them from a world that would use them as a weapon against him.

Juliet's heart wrenched. Where had he learned that skill? Echoes of Adam's gruff voice echoed through her, images he'd painted with his words of his mother smiling at the condemning vicar, never letting anyone see her pain, nor acknowledging that it ever existed, even to her own son.

Did that lady realize how much pain Adam had hidden away? Or had she ignored it the way she had ignored her lover's wife and legitimate son, pretending, forever pretending that they didn't exist, or that they didn't matter at all?

Perhaps it was time to stop giving Adam places to hide. "You behaved like a witling out there! Bellowing at poor Mr. Rutledge. What on earth possessed you?"

Adam glared at her for a moment. "He was making calves' eyes at you like some besotted fool, acting so supercilious, I wanted to... thought he..."

"Surely you didn't think he could be any danger to me?"

"Are you mad?" Adam scoffed. "He couldn't hold his own in a fight with a three-day-old kitten!"

"Then why did you get so angry?"

"Because I—didn't want him looking at you that way!" Adam flung out. "Don't want any man to... blast! I've been around Fletcher too damned long. Next thing you know, I'll be blotting up reams of execrable poetry comparing your eyes to polliwogs or somesuch. I need to get the devil away from here before I lose my mind!"