He chuckled. “I would say kindness is the least of what I’ve been to you.” He stood. “Feel better, Signorina D’Angelo.”
“What should I call you—surely not Jack?”
“Where are my manners? I am Lord John Henry Langsford, Earl of Whitton, Marquess of Bainbridge, although, for the moment, my cousin Beauford has usurped my title and my lands. But he will not prevail, not if it costs me my last breath.”
“I am very sorry you have to deal with this nasty cousin. I hope you recover what is rightly yours.”
His gaze softened. “Thank you. My friends call me Jack, and when not in public, I’d like you to do the same. I believe the intimacy of our meeting warrants such an address.”
Gaby’s cheeks flushed at the mention of intimacy between them. Although, in truth, no such intimacy existed. “Thank you, Jack. You may call me Gaby if you’d like.”
“I’d like that very much, Gaby.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a caress, and she couldn’t help but imagine his lips pressed to her ear, repeating her name in the heat of passion.
Holy crap! Get a hold of yourself, Gaby. Like that is ever going to happen.
“You know the Chinese say that once you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for it forever.”
“I’ve never heard that before.” She didn’t understand why the thought of belonging to him didn’t make her uncomfortable or want to run to the ends of the earth. Instead, warmth lit inside her. “You needn’t worry. We’re not Chinese, and you owe me nothing.”
Why her words brought a frown to his face, she couldn’t imagine. He grumbled, “I will leave you to Mrs. Livingstone’s good care.” Yet he lingered, studying her for a long moment. She thought he would say more, but instead he gave her a brief nod and spun on his heel. His long stride carried him from the room, and his larger-than-life presence was gone.
Chapter Three
Maremma, Italy
October 16, 1902
The downpour haddwindled to a drizzle, and Jack took the opportunity to clear his head. He couldn’t get the vision of the vixen’s breasts out of his mind. The temptation of those honey orbs had nearly blinded him, and it took all his forbearance not to bury his face against them when he’d carried her. He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the shocked look on her face and her mad scramble to cover herself. Of course, that was impossible, given the tattered state of her clothes.
Those luscious breasts and that bold mouth of hers drew him like a magnet. What was it about her that stirred his imagination and wouldn’t let go? Maybe it was that curious mix of bravado and vulnerability. Yet her bluster and fluster didn’t stop him from sneaking a peek at the smooth olive skin of her stomach, the only part of her not splattered in mud. It certainly hadn’t stopped him from wanting to plant kisses on every inch of her, or to slowly meander along those beautiful curves he’d felt.
He’d feared she’d slip and fall to her death. His heart had drummed in his ears as he reached down to pull her to safety. He’d lost his footing and tumbled back, and she’d landed right on top of him. Thankfully, she’d been so flustered and frightened by her ordeal that she hadn’t noticed his almost immediate physical response to her soft, luscious curves.
And then, when he’d carried her upstairs to his room and dumped her on his bed, it was all he could do to stop himself from diving on top of her. He regretted not laying her down gently. But, God’s blood, just looking at her made his cock stand at attention.
It was maddening, but his heart thundered against his chest when he held her. It was uncontrollable, reminiscent of how his body had reacted to his first kiss or the first time he’d lain with a woman.
His instinct told him that Gabriella D’Angelo was a danger to his peace of mind and to the life he’d planned for himself.
It was as if she’d cast a spell on him, and he was powerless to break it—and even more upsetting, nor did he wish to. What he wanted—forget that, what heneeded, was to bed her and then be done with her. He needed to quash this impossible attraction, and then he could move forward with his courtship of Cynthia Maxwell and her immeasurable fortune. A fortune that would give him the wherewithal to reclaim his lands and title. Then he would be assured the revenge he so desperately sought against that bastard Beauford.
Even as he tried to convince himself of what he needed to do, he couldn’t stop the rush of desire for Gabriella that infiltrated his body like an enemy army quartering in his loins. With no other option, he walked the grounds of the Villa Nido dell’ Aquila and cursed under his breath, determined to crush his craving, even if he had to walk all night. The last thing he needed was a complication to interfere with his plans, and that minx was a definite distraction.
A common local girl—what was he thinking? No, she wasn’t local. And she was anything but common. Her beauty and those glorious curves were definitely Italian, but her accent and her entire demeanor was American, which raised the questions, who was she and what was she doing in Maremma? Yes, he itched to satisfy his curiosity about who she was and what she was doing here, almost as much as his aroused cock wanted to explore her depths while his fingers, tongue, and mouth brought her to satisfaction.
His imagination conjured images of Gabriella lying beneath him and melting from his amorous embrace—yes, he had no doubt that she was a woman capable of deep passion, nothing like the lily-white swans of his class and the games of seduction they practiced. Twittering, giggling women without a head for anything but landing a husband.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind that even if he married Cynthia, who did not stir his loins in the least, there was nothing to stop him from keeping a mistress. Why not satisfy his physical desire with this exotic flower who’d literally landed in his lap? Once he’d reclaimed his title and lands, there was nothing to prevent him from spending as much time away from England as he chose. The mere thought of lying between Gaby’s legs made every muscle in his body grow taut.
But for the time being, he could do nothing about his physical needs except walk the hills.
He shook his head. “Damn, woman.” His imaginings were having a reverse effect on him, and his shaft was harder than ever.Such a waste!To pour his seed in her would feel like heaven. He was sure of it.
Jack did not consider himself a womanizer by any means. In fact, at most times, he avoided entanglements with the fairer sex—but there was something about Gabriella D’Angelo that had hit him like a thunderbolt.
His primary focus had always been archaeology. He’d spent four years in Luxor, Egypt working with his friend, the prominent archaeologist and Egyptologist Howard Carter. Carter was the inspector of monuments of Upper Egypt. Jack would have stayed there, where he knew great discoveries would be made in the Valley of the Kings in the next few years, but his father’s unexpected death had taken him back to Staffordshire and the thousand-acre family estate, Singly Park.
After his long, arduous journey home, Jack’s life had turned completely upside down when he found out his cousin, Beauford Bastion Broome, had usurped his title and inheritance by convincing Jack’s father to submit a patent for a special remainder to amend the line of succession. How Beauford had achieved such a devious and despicable goal was beyond Jack’s imaginings. The letters patent had somehow been accepted and sealed, denying Jack anything other than the modest inheritance his late mother had bequeathed him.
