Regency Rogues Omnibus (6 page)

Drummond tasted of fire and heady wicked things, and when he released her tongue, lifting his lips from hers, an actual whimper of loss cascaded out of her throat.

“I shall allow you ten minutes to repair yourself, madame, then I shall expect you in the gaming salon with your secret prepared.”

Dazed, Gabriella could only mutter a half agreeable sighing sound.

“And, your lips, kitten, after I have kissed them, are ravishing,” Drummond said, right before he released Gabriella and turned to stride away. He left conspicuously to allow Gabriella the time to collect herself and never would he admit the same need to collect himself . . . after that one devastating kiss from her lips.

Chapter Nine

Drummond paused some moments later just outside the half-chiseled, glass doors, leading into the gaming salon with his hand poised on the golden knob, shaped in the outline of a lion’s head. He admitted to himself that he was disturbed, as he slowly lifted his hand from the knob, not only by the kiss, but by Gabriella herself. Everything would have been splendid, more than he could ever have hoped to imagine, except then Wyndham had arrived unexpected.

“Christ,” he muttered, stepping backward away from the door. He could not ignore, Gabriella’s feelings completely. Of course, he could override the ones that stifled her natural passions, those devilish strictures that they bombarded into every woman in their society, with feelings of shame over their nude bodies and the denial of their sexual yearnings. These same teachings, that only a wanton or a whore would enjoy her husband’s baser needs with anything more than duty.

It was all balderdash, putrid and banal philosophies that stripped the young women in their society of any chance of happiness in a man’s arms. He could break down the barriers of these misbegotten codes. He could strip Gabriella of every misconception, by force if necessary, however what he could not do, is to lay hurtful waste to her pride and yes, even worse her honor.

Except, that is just what had happened with the untimely arrival of Wyndham. In Gabriella’s heart she would be humiliated to have been seen thus, not even the spanking, but her body’s exposure to another man, hardly an acquaintance, would shame her. And then to be brought into Wyndham’s presence once again . . . and so soon. No, he must regroup in this unexpected situation, and he told himself sternly, that none of his feelings in this had the least to do with the power and passion of that kiss.

“I will explain your absence,” Harrison rasped as he stepped forward from a shadowed alcove to Drummond’s right. “We will all be here throughout the weekend, nevertheless, as planned.”

Drummond eyed Harrison with what he knew was a fierce glare. “Your stealth is renowned, my friend,” he muttered.

Harrison merely smiled in a half glacier offering. “Wyndham is young and could hardly be expected to keep his mouth closed to such groundbreaking events, therefore, I have only to suppose what your feelings might be.”

“And you really believe that you know me so well,” Drummond questioned tightly.

“We know each other so well,” Harrison rasped. “Although, I cannot ever recall seeing you as you appear now. I only hope, should I ever be unlucky enough to take this fall into love, that it will not be quite as painful as it appears on your face.”

“Scoundrel,” Drummond growled, turning to retrace his steps.

“Most assuredly,” Harrison whispered in a ghostly inflection to Drummond’s retreating back.

Chapter Ten

Drummond found Gabriella, not surprising, exactly where he had left her, only she appeared as a morose figure spilled limply against the wall. Her small head was bent to his approach, therefore, she surprised him when she spoke with the knowledge that he was near to her.

“You shall have to beat me, my lord. Throw me into chains, before I-I ... Oh!”

Drummond swung Gabriella up into his arms to carry her, eliciting her startled squealing. “Entirely too dramatic, madame,” he muttered.

Gabriella clutched his neck to near strangulation proportions, allowing him to assume that no man had carried her in his arms before, as she sputtered rather indelicately. “Y-You would not think so, if you w-were the one being bullied!”

“Bullied, madame?” Drummond fairly blurted, then caught himself. “A smattering autocratic . . . perhaps,” he grumbled for a finish, while he noticed Gabriella’s release of some tension, namely her fingernails gouging his neck, when she saw that he carried her away from the direction of the salon.

“Autocratic,” she snorted delicately, with a puff of breath warming his jaw.

“I can detect that this situation calls for a gesture of proof,” he drawled, starting up the long staircase to the upper floors.

“Gesture?” Gabriella asked, tightening her hold on his shoulders as she glanced precariously downward.

“Do not look down,” he ordered. “Look at me.”

“Bully,” she whispered, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

Being so unobserved, Drummond smiled and held Gabriella a bit more tightly as he took the last five steps to the top of the stairs. “I shall allow you one objection a day, over anything you wish, except my releasing you.”

“W-What?”

“I suggest, madame, that you use the boon wisely. A full day is a long measure,” Drummond said, opening his bedroom door with a twist of his hand and a shove of his foot.

“And today . . . do I have one for today?” Gabriella asked, as he set her onto her feet beside him.

“Exactly,” Drummond stated succinctly as he dropped his chin to regard her gently uplifted face.

“Well then, of course I will use it to ...”

Drummond quickly used one finger to press over the delicate texture of Gabriella’s lips, silencing her before she could use her boon precariously. “I feel it only fair to inform you, madame, that we shall not be entertaining the gentlemen, Archangels this evening. Our plans have changed.”

The relief was readily apparent in Gabriella’s violet eyes as she stepped back, releasing his finger’s impression upon her lip, while asking incredulously, “Why?”

Drummond stole a moment’s hesitation by padding further into the room, then sidestepped her query entirely by asking, “Do you play chess, madame?”

Gabriella’s delicate features showed surprise, mild reproof, and then perplexity, before she finally answered, “It has been many years, my lord, however, I did play chess with my father when I was young.”

“Excellent,” Drummond answered, watching Gabriella’s awareness dawning to realize just where they stood and what she could only assume that meant would be happening soon.

“I would challenge you to a game, my lord,” she declared suddenly, a little too suddenly he thought, suppressing a smile.

“Challenge begets a wager, madame. Is that what you are suggesting?” he asked bemused.

“Well, I ...” Gabriella’s voice faltered, then regained its footing, while her gaze skittered for a moment. “Of course,” she finished, nearly in a squeak.

“Being a gentleman, I would have to give you a lead, denoting your rustiness over the game,” he paused. “A rook and a pawn, I should think would be sufficient.”

“How honorable,” Gabriella muttered, appearing for all the world as if no matter how high the advantage was, she had no hope of winning.

“What shall we wager . . . hm?” he asked, as he eyed the white and black chess pieces already set in the beginning position, on a low table in front of the fireplace.

“I really have nothing to wager, my lord.”

“Drummond, madame, I shall have to insist that you call me Drummond.” Drummond picked up the smooth-marbled queen, running his thumb over the sculptured outline. “And, I would not say that you have nothing.” He paused, lifting his gaze to Gabriella’s. “Your diamond earrings perhaps?”

“Oh no, I ...” Gabriella’s slender hand flew to her earlobe where she fingered one of the diamond ear bobs.

Drummond chuckled warmly, looking once again at the queen. “I am pleased to see that you like them so well that you have no desire to part with them, madame.”

“We could wager a deed. If you insist,” Gabriella suggested suddenly.

“A deed?” Drummond questioned, with prompt and heightened awareness.

“I could perhaps mend your shirts or, um, cook you a meal. Oh no, possibly not that as you already have an excellent cook. No, I could ...”

“A meal,” Drummond interrupted, being that she surprised him. Women of Gabriella’s station in life did not normally lower themselves to such benign labor.

“Why yes, a meal, my lor-, um, Drummond, something you favor perhaps?”

Gabriella appeared so earnest, Drummond reflected, and in his surprise he had gotten captured carrying their game in a much different direction than he intended. Ah well, there was no hope but to regroup. “A meal . . . perhaps. However, what would I give you?” he asked, setting the chess piece down.

“Above all else, I should like your vow that you will not spank me again.” Gabriella’s cheeks turned pink as Drummond watched her struggle to hold his steady gaze, whilst he fought down a pesky smile of admiration.

“All that for a meal?” he inquired as he began to walk toward her purposefully. “Perhaps for a meal and anything that I might desire for dessert, madame.”

If possible, Gabriella’s delicate features turned pinker and she appeared about to bolt, however, she stood her ground as he stopped very near to her. “I believe that is too vague,” she replied bravely, tilting her face up to him.

“Even for such a boon as never being spanked by me again?” Drummond asked with a wicked soft infliction.

“Yes . . . you could ask for the world for dessert,” Gabriella replied with a graceful sweep of her hand.

“Your loins.” Drummond abruptly stated. “Dessert would be tasting your loins.”

Gabriella faltered a step backward, apparently in shock, with her hands clasped to her agitated bosom and her cheeks turning scarlet . . .

And, Drummond unhurriedly began to unbutton his shirt. “The wager is set, madame.”

Chapter Eleven

Drummond heard Gabriella stutter, clearly flustered as she asked, “W-What are you doing?”

Drummond hid his smile and continued to untie his cravat, then began to shrug out of his evening jacket. “Undressing,” he drawled innocently.

“But why?” she asked in a bare whisper.

“You may remain dressed for now, madame. In fact, I would prefer it.” Drummond tossed his jacket aside and began working on the ruby studs in his cuffs. “I would not have you claim that I took unfair advantage of our game. However, I prefer, residing ‘au natural’ in my bed chambers.”

“Should I retrieve your robe?” she asked, breathless.

“I do not wear one,” he replied, watching Gabriella’s lovely gaze transfix on the expanse of chest that he was baring.

“You don’t?” she whispered, looking comically mortified, yet curious at the same moment.

“Never,” he stated succinctly as he walked bare-chested to the bed where he sat and began to take off his shoes.

“But, I have never seen-,” she responded in a broken whisper.

Drummond barely caught Gabriella’s soft spoken words as he glanced up at her then down to pull off his last shoe and stocking. That was the point, he mused, however he still found it surprising that after twenty-five years of marriage, Gabriella had never seen her husband in the nude. Of course it should not surprise him, his own wife had been abashed at the same notion, not that it had stopped him, at least the first several dozen times. However, eventually, his guilt over his wife’s agitation had proved superior, because in the end he had barely lifted his robe to tup his wife.

What did it do to a man’s ego to be so reviled? A man was not that much dissimilar to a woman in wanting his appearance to be attractive to her. In fact, he would wager that it was in most men’s natures to strut their wares, as it were.

Drummond stood then, audaciously placing his fingers on the inner button loops of his calf length evening trousers with his posture, hopefully the chiseled look upon his face, daring Gabriella to choose to use her boon now. He fully realized her dilemma of course, and without any hint of compassion. Should she use the boon now, to prevent his nudity or later forbid the sexual union? If only he were a compassionate man, he would tell her that he had no intentions of . . .

“D-Drummond, you are so very handsome,” Gabriella suddenly stammered and thereby shocked him as he watched her hand reach forward tentatively, in a seeming unconscious gesture. “B-Beautiful,” she said in an awed whisper. “I have never seen a man without his shirt on before. I-I am not sure that I know what to do — to say to you, as you say such intimate things to me. B-Beautiful must be a wholly inadequate word to describe a man.” Gabriella visibly faltered, holding her hand to her breast with her breathing labored as if she were wound in the beginnings of a passionate coupling, while her gaze liberally devoured the expression of his bare arms, chest, and stomach. “Power . . . strength. It is just, I ...”