Her body was hot and trembling with desire, but so was his. At least, she hoped so.
“Daisy,” he said in a ragged whisper and kissed her again, his kiss igniting a fiery torment deep within her soul. Fireworks exploded in her heart and a flaming heat spread throughout her limbs.
Oh, they were going to hell!
She couldn’t wait to get there.
CHAPTER 7
Never kiss a rake!
DAISY SLOWLY MADE her way down the stairs of the Farthingale townhouse at noon the following day, still nursing a throbbing headache. Moments earlier, Lily had diagnosed her condition as imbibing too much at Lord Hornby’s ball. Nonsense! She’d sipped only two glasses of champagne the entire evening, or was it three?
And what did her younger sister know? She was a little bluestocking who always walked around with a book in her hand, but she knew nothing about real life. Dillie was the twin who understood people and their unpredictable feelings.
Ugh! I feel wretched. Perhaps she had imbibed four glasses of champagne, she decided as her throbbing eyeballs began to pound in rhythm to her head.
Or five. Couldn’t have been more than six.
She sighed.
Perhaps seven, for she must have been more than a little drunk last night to allow Gabriel to kiss her. If one could call the locked-lips, sucking, and plundering dance that went on with their mouths and tongues something as tame as a kiss. It wasn’t.
Not that she blamed him for that all-devouring, shockingly delightful occurrence. Indeed, no. Not this time. This kiss—her first and only kiss, to be precise—was all her fault. Her first kiss ever, and she’d practically thrown herself atop him, jumping onto his lap... or had he drawn her onto it? She couldn’t recall.
A little of both, she finally decided with dismay. They’d each been clutching and groping and breathlessly needing to draw one another closer. Oh, good grief! Had she really been that wanton?
Making her way into the dining room, Daisy smiled at her mother, who was busily chatting with Aunt Julia by the tulipwood buffet. Neither her mother nor her aunt appeared to notice her entrance, for they failed to return the greeting.
Since the pair were obviously lost in the midst of an important conversation, Daisy decided not to interrupt them. In any event, she was still quite muzzy headed and could offer nothing of significance to the discussion.
She settled into a chair at the dining table and motioned for one of the serving maids to bring her a cup of tea. As she sat quietly, Julia’s chiding words reached her ears. “You’re right, Sophie. Her performance last night was disgraceful. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Quite the scandalbroth,” her mother agreed.
“Who was disgraceful?” Daisy asked.
“Goodness!” Julia dropped the silver lid to a tray of eggs and sausages.
Daisy winced as the lid made a resounding clang.
“When did you come in? I didn’t hear you,” Julia accused, turning to face her. As always, Julia was immaculately groomed, her hair styled in the latest fashion and not a golden curl out of place.
Daisy’s mother frowned. “If you must know, we were speaking of you.”
“Me?” Daisy gripped the edge of the dining table.
Had they seen her kissing Gabriel last night? No, they couldn’t possibly have been watching Eloise’s carriage or seen what was going on inside. That kiss—or rather that long string of kisses that blended into one because neither she nor Gabriel had bothered to come up for air—would have given her mother quite something to rage about.
Even now, the thought of the glorious encounter brought a heated blush to her cheeks. Her entire body warmed to the memory. She would endure whatever punishment her family had in store. Gabriel’s kiss was worth it. His touch, the taste of his lips, the magical union of their hearts was a dream come true for her.
Oh, goodness! I must still be drunk!
Her mother pinned her with a stern glance. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
That she’d confused Gabriel for his brother.
That it should have been Alexander’s kiss last night, and would have been had the clunch bothered to come down to London. But he was still at Trent Hall, so she’d wound up in Gabriel’s muscled arms, pressed against his manly body, and breathing in his divinely subtle, musk scent.
That had she been sober—alas, she wasn’t—and not giddy from too much champagne... no, that wouldn’t work.
That it had been a harmless kiss.
That Gabriel would never kiss and tell.
Crumpets! What if he were the sort to kiss and tell? He was a rakehell, after all. She’d be ruined. Disgraced. She’d have to run away and live out the rest of her life under an assumed identity. Perhaps disguise herself as a boy and sign on to a pirate ship.