Rules for Reforming a Rake(26)
He escorted Daisy to his grandmother’s side and settled her in one of the red velvet tufted chairs beside the lovable old harridan. “Don’t let her out of your sight, Eloise.”
His shrewd-eyed grandmother glanced from him to Daisy then back to him. “I’ll watch her like a hawk,” she assured, casting him a wry smile.
He turned to Daisy, intending to issue a stern warning... Well, he’d meant to speak sternly, but his tone might have softened in response to her delightfully earnest gaze. “You’re not to leave my grandmother’s side for the rest of the evening.”
He expected mild protest since the night was young, she was beautiful, and her admirers were many. Young Albert Dawson, lean and sharp-nosed, was already circling Daisy like a buzzard awaiting his meal. “And do not talk to him.”
Daisy looked around, confused. “Who?”
He turned and stared pointedly at Dawson, who had the good judgment to quietly slink away. “Never mind, he’s gone now.”
“Oh, him. He didn’t look very pleasant. Indeed, none of these young men look at all appealing. I’ll do exactly as you say. I’d much rather spend my time with Eloise.” She smiled up at him, doe-eyed and utterly delicious. Having found her heirloom necklace, he could do no wrong, at least for tonight.
Gabriel smothered a grin, feeling quite the cock-a-hoop, for the girl had a way of making him feel quite capable and important. “Good.”
She took a little breath and wiggled in her seat. “Yes, I’ll tie myself to this chair and never leave it. I won’t give you another moment’s worry.”
Oh, he liked that little wiggle.
And the thought of Daisy tied to a chair... perhaps naked and tied to a chair... perhaps naked and aroused and tied to his...
Thwap!
Hellfire! His grandmother had caught him squarely across the back of his head with her reticule as he’d innocently bent over Daisy’s hand to bid her farewell. Well, perhaps not so innocently, he knew, struggling to subdue his body’s response. Of course, getting walloped by one’s interfering grandmother went a long way toward cooling off all lust. Lord, what had she stuffed in her reticule? A cannonball?
“Leave us, Gabriel,” the beloved harridan intoned. “Go tend to your business.”
***
Much later that evening, Daisy snuggled in a corner of Eloise’s carriage and gazed out the window into the darkness that was about to lift with the coming dawn. There was an enchanting stillness to the London night, something warm and cozy about the gentle rocking of the well-oiled carriage springs and the nicely padded leather seats, something appealing about the light musk scent of Gabriel’s cologne and his comforting presence.
Eloise had always been her friend.
She now considered Gabriel a friend.
Tonight, he’d been more than that, he’d been her hero. Her very own wart hero, as her young cousin, Charles, would say.
She allowed her thoughts to stray as they rode in silence.
“What are you thinking about?” Gabriel asked in a whisper.
She must have had an odd expression on her face because Gabriel hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire ride. He’d remained seated directly across from her, studying her since they’d left the Hornby townhouse. Well, she thought he had been studying her, but couldn’t be certain because there was hardly any light in the carriage and his eyelids were half closed. Perhaps she’d imagined it and he had briefly drifted to sleep.
Eloise had fallen soundly asleep the moment they’d started the journey home. Even now, her soft snores mingled with the rhythmic groaning of the carriage wheels.
“Oh, I was thinking of many things,” Daisy whispered back, hoping not to wake his grandmother, who was bundled in a thick fox fur and almost hidden from view. “Mostly of this beautiful night and how I survived my first ball, thanks to you.”
He shook his head. “Any friend would have helped out.”
“But only you did. I hope I may return the favor someday.”
He arched an eyebrow as he shifted slightly toward her. “A good deed is its own reward.”
She let out a merry, but hushed, laugh. “You sound like a minister at a Sunday sermon.”
He gave a mock shudder. “Who me? No, I’m an unrepentant sinner.”
She was a sinner, too. The thoughts now whirling in her head while gazing at him were undeniably wicked. She’d have to speak to her married sisters about these new sensations. Or read Lady Forsythia’s book. Even though she had no intention of reforming Gabriel, what harm could there be in learning the workings of a rakehell’s mind?
Certainly no harm in better understanding her body’s response to Gabriel. Unmarried females weren’t supposed to think or feel or even know about what went on in the marriage bed. But Daisy had overheard enough of her sisters’ conversations to understand that the quickening of her heart, the warm tingling of her body, the yearning in her breast, were symptoms of desire. Did she desire Gabriel—crumpets, she couldn’t—or was she mistaking these sensations for gratitude?