Tessa Dare - The Wallflower Wager

“You’ve hurt your shoulder.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not out of joint, I hope?” She prodded his shoulder, undeterred by his grimace. “When we were children, my brother Timothy dislocated his shoulder when he fell out of a tree. Even after it healed, he could pop it in and out of joint whenever he pleased. He used to do it just to make me scream.”

“It’s not out of joint. Let it alone.”

Ignoring his protests, she pushed him toward a kitchen stool and made him sit. After unknotting his cravat with bossy motions, she circled to stand behind him and slid her hand inside the collar of his shirt.

Holy God.

“You’ve a cramp in your muscle.” She stroked her fingertips along his shoulder until she found the source of his pain. He sucked a breath through his teeth. “Oh, dear. That does hurt, doesn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it bloody well hurt. He flinched from her touch.

She shushed him. “Be still. It won’t release until you’ve calmed.”

“Your Ladyship, you are anything but calming.”

“You’re not particularly cuddly yourself,” she said. “Luckily, I have some experience soothing prickly beasts.” She pressed her fingers against the knot of muscle, kneading gently. “That’s it,” she whispered. “Just breathe.”

Her fingers weaved through his hair, stroking it back from his brow. He was painfully aware of his soot-smeared, perspiring state. It made him feel like a starving boy again, dressed in rags and covered in dirt, salivating over food on the hob and discarded crusts on the gin house tables. He’d worked so hard, come so far to leave that childhood behind.

Resentment rose in his chest, pumping his heart at a furious pace. Red anger clouded his vision and his pulse filled his ears.

Gabe shrugged off her hands and pushed to his feet. He needed to leave before he vented his emotions in her direction. She might be part of this elite, privileged world he despised, but she hadn’t chosen it. No more than he’d chosen to be born in the gutter.

She circled back, standing before him. “There now. Better?”

He gave a reluctant nod.

“Can you move your arm in all directions?”

He rolled his shoulder to prove it. “Yes.”

“What about your grip?”

“My grip is strong.”

“Perhaps I should wrap the arm in a sling.”

“I do not need a sling.”

“Wait here. I’ll dash upstairs to fetch some linen and—”

“For the love of God, woman. My shoulder is fine.” He took her by the waist and lifted her straight off the floor, until they were eye to eye. “There. Believe me now?”

She nodded, wide-eyed.

“Good.”

In his hands, she was delicate, breakable. Her hair was a golden treasure he should never, ever touch. And oh, how he hungered for those soft, pink lips.

The familiar voice echoed in his ears.

Don’t touch, boy. She’s not for the likes of you.

Put. Her. Down.

But before Gabe could lower those beribboned pink slippers to the floor, she captured his sooty, sweaty face in her hands—

And kissed him on the lips.

The kiss lasted a triumphant, beautiful instant.

Then he dropped her to the floor.

Penny, you fool.

It was only a distance of a few inches, but the impact shivered up her legs and made her knees weak. She had to cling to him for balance, which naturally made it all the more awkward.

“I’m sorry,” she said, releasing him. “That was an accident.”

His eyebrow quirked.

“I mean, it wasn’t an accident. People accidentally bump heads, don’t they. Or knees. No one bumps lips on accident. I did it purposely.” She could hear herself blathering, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I was grateful for your help with Bixby, and more than a little overwhelmed by that display of brute strength. All that flexing.”

He stared hard at her mouth, likely in disbelief at the nonsensical words streaming out of it.

She bit her lip. “Would you believe me if I said I was dizzy from the altitude?”

“No.”

“Very well, I . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I wanted to kiss you. I can’t explain why. I have no excuses. At any rate, don’t worry. It was clearly a mistake, and I promise it won’t happen agai—”

Again.

He kissed her again.

Or rather, he kissed her for the first time—and he was so much better at it than she.

This kiss could not be mistaken for an accidental collision of mouths. Oh, no. He kissed with purpose. His lips had ideas. His tongue had plans.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his muscled arms. He brushed his lips to hers in a series of chaste, yet masterful kisses. He swept a hand up her spine and into her hair, where he twisted and gathered the tangled locks in his fist. Then he tugged sharply, tipping her face to his and sending electric sensation over her every nerve.

When her mouth fell open in a gasp, he reclaimed her lips, sweeping his tongue between them. Her first instinct was to shy away, but Penny fought against it. She reached higher, lacing her arms about his neck and holding tight.

His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. He tasted of soot and salt and . . . and of apples, strangely. Tart, smoky, just a hint of sweet.

A lush, decadent pleasure unwound within her, snaking through her veins—as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years. Waiting on this moment.

Waiting on this man.

And then, in a voice rough with yearning, he whispered a single word against her lips. “Inventory.”

Penny’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Send me an inventory,” he said, releasing her from his embrace. “A list of the animals. I’ll start on finding them homes.”

He gathered his discarded coat and folded it over his arm. After a look at his soot-smeared cravat, he tossed it into the fire.

Suddenly, he was all business. Penny was all confusion.

When he left the kitchen and mounted the stairs, she followed him, because what else could she do?

“While I’m working on the animals,” he went on, “confer with your seamstress friend. You can’t attend balls and such until you have a gown to wear. And if you want to make the society column, it had better be a stunning one.”

“If anyone can create something stunning, it’s Emma.”

“Good.” He opened the front door. “We’re all sorted, then.”

“Are we?”

“I’ll await your list.” With a nod, he exited the house and shut the door behind him.

How irritating. Penny was still reeling and breathless from their kiss, and he . . . wasn’t, apparently. Surely a considerate man would at least pretend to be a bit unmoored.

Then the door reopened, and he entered again. “Your Ladyship, I—”

After a lengthy pause, she prompted him. “You . . . ?”

He frowned at the floor. “We.”

We.

He said this as though it were a complete sentence, but even after several moments of contemplation, Penny could not make sense of it.

With an annoyed shake of his head, he wrenched open the door for the third time, stormed through it, and slammed it behind him with such decisive force that the portraits rattled on the wall.

Penny smiled to herself.

With that, she could be satisfied.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The next day, Gabe found himself sitting in his office. In fact, he’d been sitting there for hours now. Not reviewing any of the many papers, contracts, or ledgers awaiting his attention, but merely staring into space and tapping a shilling against the desk.

Tap. Tap. Tap.