She thought he was going to argue further but instead he sighed. ‘I need to get off this floor,’ he muttered. ‘I am loath to ask more of you Miss Shackleford, since you have most assuredly gone above and beyond with regards to my welfare, but would you be so kind as to help me get up.’
‘I’m not sure that would be the best thing for your head,’ Hope argued in a complete about turn from her earlier suggestion.
‘If others arrive and find me lying on the floor in a state of undress, it will not be the best thing for your reputation,’ he returned through gritted teeth.
For the first time Hope’s attention was drawn to his attire. Or lack of it. He was clad in only the flimsiest of britches which were currently unfastened, together with an untucked muslin shirt, the material so fine, it was virtually transparent. He wore no cravat, and the shirt was undone almost to his waist revealing a sculpted chest sprinkled with a smattering of black hair that trailed down to the hard planes of his stomach - and beyond…
This time her face flamed. So fiery was her colour it rivalled that of her hair. He quirked a mocking brow at her belated realisation and held up his hand. ‘If you could but assist me into a sitting position, I am sure from there I will be able to complete the process without further help.’
Not trusting herself to speak, Hope simply stepped forward and took his hand. It was hot to the touch, and she willed her heart to slow its ridiculous beating.
‘On three - pull’ he mumbled. ‘One, two, three…’ She yanked backwards as hard as she could. Unfortunately, his grasp was much stronger than hers and even as he managed to rise into a sitting position, she could feel herself overbalance. Feeling her grip waver, Gabriel immediately let go, but it was too late. With a small shriek, she fell forward, only managing to twist to the side at the last second so that she fell into his lap.
Chapter Twelve
As her hands grasped his shoulders to steady herself, Hope’s first thought was that it was not just his hand that was hot, then all thought fled as she turned her head and stared into his eyes.
She had never had a man stare at her with desire before. Indeed, had wondered whether she could ever inspire any man to feel anything remotely akin to passion. Looking into Gabriel’s eyes, she doubted no more. His pupils were huge, and the grey surrounding them the colour of a stormy sea. They devoured her with such longing in their depths that she caught her breath, her heart pumping wildly.
Without thinking, she shifted position, unconsciously seeking to get closer to his heated flesh. Her move was purely instinctive, and it was Gabriel’s turn to catch his breath. Then, eyes glittering, he gave a muttered oath, pulled her towards him and covered her mouth with his.
His lips slanted across hers with all the hunger of a drowning man, and with a low whimper Hope yielded to his desperation, her lips parting beneath the pressure of his. Lost in a sea of sensation, she did not protest when his hand sought out her breast, his fingers expertly teasing its peak. Instead, she moaned against his mouth and strained towards him as a restless need shot down from her breast to her core. Feverishly she curled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, until… suddenly, shockingly he tore his mouth away and pushed her from him.
‘We have to stop,’ he ground out.
Panting, Hope shook her head blindly and pressed herself back towards him. The small, sane part of her knew he was right, but her whole body tingled from his touch. She felt more alive than she had ever been and dear God she did not want these feelings to end. Ever.
‘Hope,’ he groaned as she lifted her mouth once more to his, ‘If you do not pull away now, I may be unable to help myself.’ She knew he was telling the truth. She could feel the evidence of his desire in between her legs, but instead of pulling away, she shifted impatiently, causing him to throw his head back and dig his hands further into her shoulders. Panting, he closed his eyes. ‘I have not touched a woman in over a year,’ he continued between gritted teeth, ‘You need to remove yourselfnow.’
His words penetrated her consciousness like a dash of cold water.
He had been without a woman for a year.
That was why he wanted her. That was why he’d kissed her.
Not because he found her irresistible, but because she was there.
Feeling suddenly sick, she scrambled ungainly to her feet and rushed into the kitchen. Gadzooks, what had she done? Hastily she restored her clothing, smoothing down her skirt with almost violent swipes. Then she put her hand to her hair. Damn, it was almost out of its pins, and she was certain that many of those missing would be scattered on the floor around the Viscount. Fighting the urge to cry, she gathered the mass and tied it back with some string. If it was only Malcolm who arrived to help, mayhap he wouldn’t notice.
But then, if she left now, she could be well on the way to the vicarage before the valet even arrived. The sudden sound of voices outside put an end to her agonising. Looking through the window, she spied Malcolm dismounting from his horse, the small anxious face of Jimmy standing waiting.
Too late to run now. Hope bit her lip then squared her shoulders, telling herself to get a deuced backbone. She’d gotten herself into this hobble, so it was up to her to get herself out of it.
She marched back into the sitting room just as Malcolm entered through the front door. To her relief, Gabriel was now sitting in the fireside chair, both his breeches and his shirt buttoned up. She had time to notice the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the uncommon paleness of his face. If he hadn’t been kissing her senseless not five minutes earlier, she would have believed him a corpse, so waxlike was his pallor.
‘What bloody japes have ye been up to laddie?’ asked Malcolm as he strode in. He barely cast a glance in her direction for which Hope was profoundly grateful.
‘As you can see, I sustained a nasty blow to the head,’ Gabriel answered faintly turning his head to the side to expose the wound.
‘Indeed, you have and the two empty bottles of brandy have nought to do wi’ it I suppose.’ He bent forward as he spoke and Gabriel gritted his teeth at the Scotsman’s probing.
‘It’ll need stitching laddie, the sooner the better.’ He straightened up and turned to Jimmy who was hovering in the doorway. ‘Fetch some water from the well and set it over the fire.’
‘It needs more firewood,’ interrupted Hope. ‘The fire is almost out.’
Malcolm turned to look at her for the first time and she held her breath, expecting to see disapproval in his gaze. Instead, she saw kindness and gratitude.
‘Thank ye kindly for your aid Miss Shackleford,’ he said gently. ‘Without your quick thinking, I suspect Lord Northwood here would be in a considerably worse state.’ Hope fought the urge to laugh. She doubted that very much.
