Confessions at Midnight

Chapter Six

Daniel watched the color leach from Carolyn's face and his jaw tightened. She was clearly stunned, and not in a delighted way. Disappointment washed through him, followed immediately by a tight grip of jealousy. And something else he couldn't quite name other than to know it made his heart feel as if a piece were torn from it. Based on her reaction, she hadn't known it was him she'd kissed.

Damn it, who the bloody hell had she thought the highwayman was? He didn't know, but was determined to find out. Before he could ask, however, she moistened her lips, and that flick of her tongue distracted him. He hadn't quite recovered when she asked, "How did you know Galatea was me?"

"It wasn't difficult. The way you hold yourself. The curve of your chin. Your laugh. You are… unmistakable."

For several long seconds she studied him through those beautiful eyes that reminded him of a cloudless summer sky. Then, without saying a word, she rose and moved toward the fireplace. After setting the jar of honey on the mantel, she kept her back to him and appeared to stare into the flames.

"How long did you know it was me?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated. His pride-dented by the fact she hadn't realized he was the highwayman-demanded he not admit he'd known her identity all along. That he hadn't guessed until after they kissed. If she were any other woman, the falsehood would have slipped from his lips without a qualm. Seduction was nothing more than a series of intricate games-games he knew very well how to play. Just as he knew very well how to keep his own counsel and reveal as little as possible of himself to his lovers. In games of love, information was ammunition. The man who gave a woman too much risked getting shot.

But with this woman, the lie caught in his throat, refusing to be spoken. For the sake of his battered pride, he even coughed once in an attempt to dislodge the falsehood, but it refused to budge, leaving him with only one option: to tell her the unvarnished truth. Completely uncharacteristic, but there was simply no other alternative. He didn't quite understand why he felt this way, why he had no choice in the matter, and damn it, he detested feeling so confused. But as this was the hand he'd been dealt, he had no choice but to play it. Bloody hell, no wonder he'd never cared for card games.

He stood, then crossed to the fireplace, stopping directly behind her. The faint scent of flowers rose from her skin, teasing his senses, and he drew a deep breath. God, she smelled good. Like a garden on a sunny day.

His gaze riveted on the nape of her neck. That column of creamy skin, flanked by a pair of honey-colored tendrils artfully loosened from her upswept hair, looked so soft, so vulnerable. And so damn touchable.

"I knew it was you the instant I saw you," he admitted softly. Unable to resist, he reached out and touched a single fingertip to that tempting bit of skin, relishing the discovery that it felt as velvety as it looked.

He savored her quick intake of breath, as well as the slight tremor that ran through her. "I was completely aware it was you I spoke to," he continued, lightly trailing his fingertip along the gentle curve of her nape. "You I danced with." He stepped forward until his front lightly grazed her back, and brushed his lips against the skin his finger had just explored. "You I kissed."

She went perfectly still, indeed, it seemed she'd ceased breathing, and grim satisfaction filled him. Excellent. It was a sensation he understood all too well, and it was entirely her fault. Every time he so much as thought of this woman, the sensual images she inspired made it feel for several seconds as if his lungs forgot how to work.

His arms slid around her waist, and holding her lightly against him, he dragged his lips along her neck and inhaled… slowly, deeply, steeping his senses in the soft, floral scent of her. The delicious and almost painfully arousing sensation of holding her in his arms. And as happened every time he was near her, his finesse fled, leaving him struggling to keep from simply snatching her against him. Backing her against the nearest wall. Or bending her over the nearest chair. Or tossing her on the nearest settee. Or just dragging her to the floor. Anywhere to put out this damnable fire that roared through him every time he touched her. A flame that burned even hotter now that he'd tasted her.

The effort not to give in to the craving had him damn near shaking, and he briefly closed his eyes. Forced himself to pull himself together. For God's sake, he'd barely touched her. Never had he experienced such an overwhelming need to have any woman. Still, his inner voice warned him not to move too quickly with Carolyn, lest he scare her off again as he had last night.

Leaning back, he gently turned her until she faced him. One look at her heightened color and languorous expression left no doubt that she was as affected as he. Thank God. Because the next time he kissed her she was damn well going to know it was him doing so.

He reached out and lightly stroked his fingers down her soft cheek. "Who did you think kissed you last night?" he asked, voicing the question that had ceaselessly reverberated through his mind. Hating that he had to ask it.

She studied him with an indecipherable expression, and he dearly wished he could read her thoughts. Then, as if recalling that they stood so close, that his hands rested on her waist, she eased away, putting several feet between them. A space he had to force himself not to erase.

"A dashing highwayman," she finally said. "I'm afraid I got caught up in the excitement and anonymity of the masque and…"

Her voice trailed off and she shifted her gaze to the fire. Although disappointed that she hadn't known or guessed his identity, he was vastly relieved that she at least hadn't named another man.

"And you gave in to your desires?" he suggested softly when she remained silent.

She shook her head. "No. I made a mistake."

She turned toward him, and for the first time he realized that her eyes bore traces of redness around the rims and faint smudges beneath. Signs of a restless, sleepless night. And perhaps even tears. The thought of her crying filled him with an ache he couldn't name. Brought to life a need to comfort and protect-a need he hadn't felt for a very long time. A need he'd thought long dead.

It required all his will not to reach for her. "It wasn't a mistake," he said, his voice quiet yet implacable.

A look of resolution and something else-anguish perhaps?-flickered in her gaze and she lifted her chin. "I assure you it was, Lord Surbrooke. I didn't mean-"

"Daniel."

She hesitated, then continued, "I didn't mean for things to go as far as they did. I shouldn't have accompanied you-the highwayman-onto the terrace. I can only reiterate that I made a mistake. And ask for your forgiveness."

"I assure you there is nothing to forgive." No longer able to stop himself, he stepped closer to her. He wondered if she'd back away, and was pleased when she stood her ground. "I suppose I should apologize as well, but I'm afraid I can't. I'm not sorry. Indeed, my only regret is that you left so abruptly."

She shook her head. "Lord Surbrooke, I-"

"Daniel. Please, call me Daniel." He smiled, hoping to coax one from her in return. "After last evening surely we are on a first name basis. At least I hope so… Lady Wingate?"

When, in spite of the exaggerated questioning tone in which he uttered her name, she didn't issue the invitation he hoped, he added, "At least I hope so… my dear Lady Wingate?"

Encouraged by the slight twitch of her lips, he continued, "My extremely lovely, very dear Lady Wingate?"

The barest whiff of amusement entered her eyes. "How long you do intend to continue in this vein?"

"For as long as it takes… my extremely lovely, very dear, and greatly talented Lady Wingate."

She cocked a brow. "Greatly talented? Clearly you've never heard me sing."

"No." He clutched his hands to his chest in a dramatic pose. "But I'm certain the sound rivals that of angels' voices."

"Only if angels' voices sound like out-of-tune squeaking carriage wheels."

He made a tsking sound. "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to disparage my friend-the extremely lovely, very dear, greatly talented, and highly amusing Lady Wingate."

"At this rate, by the end of the day I'll bear more titles than the entire royal family combined."

"I'm certain that's correct, my extremely lovely, very dear, greatly talented, highly amusing, and extraordinarily intelligent Lady Wingate."

She shot him a half-exasperated, half-amused look. "It has clearly escaped your notice, my lord, that I am endeavoring to maintain a bit of propriety between us."

"Daniel. And no, it hasn't escaped my notice." He grinned and waggled his brows. "But clearly it has escaped your notice that I'd like to you stop."

"I believe even a blind man could see that. Yet I'm also endeavoring to politely extricate myself from an embarrassing situation. In a way that will allow us to forget our lapse in judgment last night and continue to enjoy the easy camaraderie we established at Matthew's house party."

"Is that truly what you think last night was? A lapse in judgment?"

"Yes. And one I've no intention of repeating." The words weren't said unkindly. Indeed, he could easily read the apology in her eyes, the plea for understanding.

The problem was, he didn't understand. Nor did he want an apology.

"Can you tell me why?" he asked, his gaze searching hers. "It was clear you enjoyed our kiss as much as I did."

Crimson rushed into her cheeks, and he marveled that a woman over thirty, one who'd been married, could still blush. "That makes no difference."

"I disagree. There is an attraction between us. One I've felt for… quite some time."

Surprise, and something else, flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it. "You have?"

Since the moment I first saw you. Ten years go. "Yes. And it's something I'd like to explore further. Unless… are you saying I'm incorrect? That the attraction is all one-sided?"

Her blush deepened. "Any woman with a heartbeat would think you very handsome-"

"I don't care about what any woman would think. I only care about what you think."

"Surely my opinion regarding your attractiveness isn't important, my lord."

"Daniel. And actually your opinion is very important to me." His lips twitched. "Although I really just want you to agree with me."

She gave a surprised laugh, which she attempted to cover with a cough, and he noted that she appeared a bit more relaxed. A whiff of mischief danced in her eyes. "You wish for me to agree that you're attractive? Surely you realize how conceited that makes you sound."

"No. I'm hoping you'll agree that there's an attraction between us. And that you'd like to explore that attraction as much as I would."

She immediately sobered. Pressing her lips together, she averted her gaze. Then drew a breath and faced him again. "I'm very flattered, but-"

Reaching out, he gently pressed his fingers to her lips. "Why don't we leave it for now at 'I'm very flattered?'" He flashed a smile, one he prayed didn't looked as forced as it felt, then lowered his hand. "I find that statements that follow the word 'but' are generally not very encouraging."

"But that is just the point. Although my actions of last evening may understandably indicate otherwise, I do not wish to encourage you."

"Me in particular? Or gentlemen in general?"

"Gentlemen in general. But especially not you."

He winced. "Ouch. That loud crash you just heard was my manly ego smashing to bits."

She reached out and briefly laid her hand against his upper arm. If he'd been capable of levity, he would have laughed at the fissure of heat that raced through him at the innocent gesture. "You misunderstand me. I say especially not you because… I like you. I don't want to hurt you."

He quirked a brow. "Do you intend to cosh me with an iron skillet? Or perhaps a fire poker? Heavy rock? Shove me down the stairs?"

Her lips twitched. "Of course not."

"Then I fail to see how you could possibly hurt me."

She turned to look at the painting above the mantel, and he followed her gaze. Edward smiled from the canvas, his handsome face frozen in time. A life-sized ghost captured in oil paint.

Daniel pulled his gaze away from the painting to look at her. "I see. You've told me about your devotion to Edward, your wish to never remarry, and I understand." But though he claimed to understand and didn't begrudge Carolyn her feelings, he simply couldn't comprehend that profound depth of love. The sort that owned one's entire heart and soul. "You're afraid that because your heart isn't free, you'll hurt my tender emotions."

She moved to face him, then nodded. "At the risk of sounding horribly full of myself, yes. I've no desire to hurt either of us."

"At the risk of sounding horribly full of myself, I do not allow my tender emotions to enter into any of my liaisons." He gave her a quick grin. "Indeed, history has shown that I'm quite lacking in tender emotions, so you need not worry. And like you, I've no desire to marry."

She raised her brows. "What of your title?"

He shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to get leg-shackled someday, but I've no intention of considering it until I'm in my dotage. If I happen to cock up my toes before the deed is done, I have two younger brothers."

Another layer of crimson washed over her cheeks, and he had to fist his hands to keep from cupping her face between his palms and kissing her until neither of them could catch their breath. "You're suggesting we have an affair."

Bloody hell, yes. Starting immediately, if not sooner. "I'm suggesting we see where last night's kiss leads us," he replied cautiously, not wanting to see her sprint from the room in panic, "although I admit I have a very good idea where that will be."

"Which is an affair."

"Yes."

The flash of heat in her eyes told him she was tempted. But then her gaze flicked to the portrait and she shook her head. "I've never… I cannot." Another shake of her head. "I'm sorry."

Reaching out, he lightly clasped her hands. "I know how much you loved him. Still love him. He was, in every way, a man to be admired. Do you not think he'd want you to live?"

"Yes, but…" Her words trailed off and he could easily see how torn she was.

"I don't require your heart. In truth, I've absolutely no wish for it."

Confusion clouded her eyes. "Then what do you want?"

"Is it not obvious? I want you. Your company. Your laughter." He gently squeezed her hands. "I want you as my lover. In my bed. Or your bed… or wherever our encounters may take us. Your heart can remain your own. As mine shall continue to belong to me. Your body, however…" His gaze skimmed slowly down her form.

"Would be yours?" she asked in a husky whisper.

"Yes." He resettled his gaze on hers. "As mine would be yours."

"For how long?"

"For as long as we wished. Until one of us no longer wanted to be involved."

"Just a temporary, carefree liaison, based solely upon physical gratification." She sounded both skeptical and intrigued.

"Yes. Except you forgot to mention discreet. No one would know except us."

"How do I know you wouldn't tell anyone?"

"First, because I give you my word of honor I wouldn't. And second, I don't like to share. Anything. But most especially the private details of my life."

"I… see."

"I would protect you in every way. Including against pregnancy."

Her gaze briefly dipped downward. "That… that wouldn't be necessary. After seven childless years of marriage, I finally had to accept that I am unable to conceive."

There was no missing the sadness in her voice, and he gave her hands another gentle squeeze.

"You are a stunning, desirable woman. And passionate as well-something that, based on your reaction to our kiss, I think you've lost sight of."

A frown whispered across her face. "I fear you're reading too much into it. My reaction was an aberration."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"I see I shall simply have to prove you wrong." And with those words he erased the distance between them with a single step and covered her mouth with his, instantly falling into the same dark abyss of want and need he'd plunged into last night. A fiery, shadowy place where only the two of them existed. A place he never wanted to leave.

Forcing himself to move with a deliberate lack of haste, one in complete contrast to the urgency pounding through him, he released her hands and slid his around her waist, drawing her against him until they touched from chest to knee. For several seconds she remained stiff, then with a soft moan wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips.

If he hadn't been so consumed with need, he might have savored the triumph. Instead, he tightened his hold on her and sank deeper into the kiss, his tongue exploring the delicious, velvety warmth of her mouth. With each passing second he felt more and more as if he were being pulled into a carnal vortex from which there was no escape. Not that he wanted to get away. God no. In fact, they weren't nearly close enough.

With a groan he slid one hand down to the small of her back. His palm pressed against the base of her spine and his fingers splayed over the curve of buttocks, urging her tighter against him. His erection pressed into her and his hips involuntarily flexed, a slow thrust that dragged a growl of pure want from his throat.

He lost all concept of time. Knew only that no matter how long he kissed her it wasn't long enough. Heart hammering, he somehow found the strength to lift his head, but only far enough to trail his lips along her jaw. Down the curve of her fragrant neck. All the while absorbing the sweetly erotic sounds emanating from her parted lips. He glided his tongue along the side of neck, tasting her warm, flower-scented skin, then gently sucked on the spot where her rapid pulse beat. No woman had ever tasted so delicious.

With an effort that cost him, he finally raised his head. And bit back a groan of intense longing at the sight that greeted him.

With her eyes drooped to half-mast, her cheeks flushed crimson, and her lips parted and kiss-swollen, she looked thoroughly and deliciously aroused. Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist to hold her anchored securely against him, he raised a non-too-steady hand and brushed the backs of his fingers across her warm, satiny smooth cheek.

Her eyes fluttered the rest of the way open and he stared into their deep blue depths. And felt himself drowning all over again.

"Still think last night was an aberration?" he asked, his voice low and rough with arousal.

He didn't recognize the expression that ghosted over her features, but it clearly wasn't happiness. Indeed, it looked more like defeat. "Apparently not," she conceded. "But-"

He cut off her words with a quick kiss. "Remember what I said about statements that follow the word 'but' not being very encouraging?"

She opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue further, when a knock sounded on the door. For several seconds she froze, then with a gasp she pulled away from him, as if he'd burned her, and smoothed her hands over her hair and gown in an agitated gesture.

"You look fine," he assured her, jerking his jacket into place. "Although by 'fine' I actually mean 'perfect.'"

And by God, she did. Perfectly kissed, he decided, as he mentally cursed the interruption. Although, perhaps it had actually come at the ideal time. They'd just shared what he would describe as another extraordinary kiss, and she hadn't had time to raise any objections. Indeed, he should grasp this opportunity to depart and leave her to recall just how incredible their kiss was. And hopefully leave her wanting more.

"Come in," she called.

The door opened and the dour-faced butler who'd shown Daniel in entered bearing a silver salver upon which sat a trio of calling cards. "Visitors to see you, my lady. Lady Walsh, Lady Balsam, and Mrs. Amunsbury. Are you at home?"

Her gaze shifted to Daniel. "I must be going," he said quickly. "I've several appointments scheduled."

She nodded then said to the butler, "You may escort Lord Surbrooke to the foyer, then show the ladies in, Nelson."

"Very good, my lady."

She turned back to Daniel. "Thank you for the honey."

"You're welcome. Will you be attending Lord and Lady Gatesbourne's soiree this evening?" He assumed she would, as their daughter, Lady Julianne, was one of her closest friends.

She hesitated. "I've not yet decided."

And in that instant he knew that he was the reason she wasn't certain if she'd attend. Clearly she didn't know if she wanted to see him again. Her decision whether to attend would reveal a great deal, he decided.

Forcing himself not to touch her, he merely made her a formal bow. "I hope to see you there, my lady. And please remember to take care and not go out alone." He then crossed to the doorway and forced himself to follow Nelson from the room without looking back.

In the foyer, he exchanged greetings with Kimberly, Lady Balsam, and Mrs. Amunsbury, all of whom eyed him curiously.

"And what brings you to Lady Wingate's home?" asked Lady Balsam, brushing away one of her turban's peacock feathers from her cheek.

Daniel forced a smile. The beautiful, haughty countess was one of the most notorious gossips in the ton. "Merely a neighborly visit, as my home is only two doors away. After I heard the shocking news about Lady Crawford's death, I decided to check on Lady Wingate to make certain she was all right."

"Quite the knight in shining armor," said Kimberly, eyeing him with amusement. "Is she all right?"

"I'm happy to report she is fine. And I'm very glad to see all you ladies are fine as well." Curious as to the reason for their visit, as he wasn't aware that any of the ladies were particularly close friends of Carolyn's, he casually asked, "What brings you calling on this lovely day?"

"We were on our way to Regent Street to visit the shops when Lady Walsh suggested we call upon Lady Wingate to see if she'd like to join us," reported Mrs. Amunsbury. She held her nose hoisted so high in the air, Daniel wondered that she didn't regularly tip backward. "We're all so delighted she is getting out in Society again."

"Yet now we must be concerned about a murderer running about," said Lady Balsam with a sniff. Daniel barely refrained from looking toward the ceiling. God forbid anything should have the gall to come between the countess and her visits to the shops. "Terrible business, the murder is," she continued, "but really, whatever was Lady Crawford thinking, lurking about in the mews? Asking for trouble, for a lady to venture there."

Although he agreed, he had no wish to discuss the matter further. After offering the ladies a formal bow, he left. As he made his way down the flagstone steps then the short path leading to the black wrought-iron gate, he pondered Lady Balsam's words and wondered who or what had led Blythe to the mews. Her adventurous spirit wasn't the sort that would lead her to expose herself to unsafe areas. Which could only mean she'd either expected to meet someone in the mews-someone who either hadn't shown up, leaving her at the mercy of whoever killed her-and that person had killed her. Or she hadn't gone into the mews alone, and the companion who accompanied her there killed her. Which meant that the murderer had attended the masquerade. Like everyone else, he could only hope the culprit was quickly caught and brought to justice. And that Rayburn, and especially Mayne, would turn their attention away from him and concentrate on finding the real murderer.

Yet even as the mystery surrounding Blythe's death circled through his mind, deep inside him another question tied him in knots.

Would Carolyn come to the Gatesbourne soiree tonight?

He supposed the answer depended on the other question that he knew would haunt him all day.

Would she be brave enough to admit she wanted him as much as he wanted her?