The Pleasure of Your Kiss Read online

  “That’s because you were a hellacious little hoyden and a sneaky little shrew.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Did you ever once consider just telling me you liked me instead of doing all of those wicked things to me?”

  She recoiled in mock horror. “Of course not! What fun would that have been? I mean, what if you hadn’t reciprocated my feelings? I would have looked like a fool. Besides, if you weren’t so pigheaded, you would have been able to see that I adored you. Everyone else knew. Even Maximillian.”

  Ash blinked at her. “What did you say?”

  “Max always knew I was infatuated with you. He was the one who caught me blubbering out behind the dovecote after I found out you were besotted with that silly goose girl.”

  Ash scowled, clearly chalking up another mark against his brother. “He might have told me.”

  “Perhaps he thought it best that you figure it out in your own time. Plus I swore him to secrecy.”

  Ash snorted. “If there’s anything Max excels at, it’s keeping secrets.”

  Clarinda lowered her eyes, hoping to distract him from that dangerous topic with a pretty little pout. “I was only twelve at the time and it broke my heart because the goose girl’s bosoms were so much more impressive than my own.”

  Ash closed a possessive hand over one of her breasts, testing its generous heft in his palm. “Something you clearly no longer have to fear.”

  She bit her lip, looking every bit as mischievous as she had at twelve. “Now that I’m not drunk on some ancient potion, I was hoping you might let me show you some of the tricks I learned in the harem.”

  Ash gave her a wary look. “I’m afraid I don’t have a cucumber handy.”

  “I know,” she whispered, closing her hand around him only to discover he was already fully aroused.

  His hips jerked of their own volition as she lightly ran her thumb over his broad head, making his body weep a single tear of anticipation.

  “Clarinda,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not the sultan. You don’t need tricks to please me. I’m perfectly happy with …”

  She bent her head to him, rocking his world to its foundations with nothing more than a teasing swirl of her tongue. Then all he could do was throw back his head, grit his teeth, and tangle his hands in the silky ribbons of her hair as she proceeded to show him just what able teachers the women of Farouk’s harem had been.

  When Ash woke to find Clarinda snuggled against his side, her slender arm curled trustingly around his waist, he had only one thought—Dear God, I’ve done it again.

  The desert sky above them was already beginning to melt from pink to blue. The crisp, golden edge of the sun peeped over the feathery fronds of the palms on the far side of the oasis, giving little warning that it would soon turn the vast sweep of sand and sky into a raging inferno.

  Feeling as if its flames were already licking at him, Ash disengaged himself from Clarinda’s embrace with painstaking care. He quickly drew on his trousers, boots, and shirt. He had no choice but to leave the shirt hanging halfway open since Clarinda’s eager little hands had ripped away several of the buttons in their desperate quest to bare his chest so she could devour him with her luscious lips.

  Ash’s hands faltered on the front placket of his breeches as he remembered how those same lips had enfolded him with such enthusiasm and generosity. Clarinda had always been a bold and adventurous girl, but last night she had taken him on a journey beyond any he had ever experienced or even imagined. The memory made him hard all over again, tempted him to strip his breeches right back off and bury himself in her warm, sleepy body. It didn’t help to know that she would probably welcome him with open arms. And legs.

  Ash raked a hand through his hair, trying not to remember how her fingers had felt doing the exact same thing. All he had done last night was prove everything his father had ever believed about him to be true. He was an unscrupulous son of a bitch. He had saved Clarinda from Farouk’s bed only to waste no time tumbling her into his own. He had betrayed his own brother without giving one thought as to what was best for Clarinda—or her future. He had sought only to satisfy his own selfish lust.

  Just as he had done all those years ago.

  Remembering the cost of that mistake, he turned toward the tent, determined to dump Luca out of his bedroll and demand that he escort the women the rest of the way to Max’s encampment without him. He obviously couldn’t be trusted to do what was best for Clarinda. He had to escape this place, escape her, even if he had to walk all the bloody way to the nearest port. He would rather face a poisonous asp, a scorpion’s deadly stinger, and a band of desert marauders than face the temptation of another night in her company.

  He had barely taken two steps when a voice rang out behind him with the pristine clarity of a bell. “Going somewhere, Captain Burke?”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  As soon as Ash turned and Clarinda saw the guarded look on his face, she knew he was leaving her. Again.

  And this time he wouldn’t be coming back.

  She sat up, gathering the robe they had used for a bed in front of her to shield her breasts from his gaze. She no longer wanted to be naked—or vulnerable—in front of him.

  Hoping to stave off any awkward excuses he might make, she said, “I suppose it’s time to resume your role as the dashing and romantic Captain Sir Ashton Burke. After all, there are adventures to be had, damsels to be rescued … rewards to be claimed.”

  Judging by the look in his eyes, her husky murmur had succeeded in reminding him just how rewarding last night had been for the both of them.

  “I can’t expect you to understand,” he said.

  Still clutching the robe in front of her, she rose, remembering yet another lesson he had taught her—it was far better to face your adversary while standing on your own two feet. “What’s to understand? The legendary Lothario sneaking out the window of his lady love and creeping through the garden at dawn with boots in hand? Why, it’s a tale as old—and trite—as time!”

  Ash bent to scoop up his own discarded robe from a rock and tossed it to her. “You’d best put this on. I can’t very well return you to your fiancé looking like that.”

  She let her robe drop as she caught his, deliberately standing there for a moment in the waves of sand like Venus rising from the sea in Botticelli’s famous painting, before securing the robe around her. Borrowing a gesture from Yasmin’s repertoire, she shook back her hair so that it spilled down her back in a waterfall of molten sunlight. “Like what? Like I just spent the night in his brother’s bed?”

  He couldn’t deny that was exactly how she looked. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, her lips still tender from the kisses they had shared. The scrape of his beard stubble had left lightly abraded areas on her throat … and her inner thighs. She had the look of a woman who had been well satisfied by the man she loved.

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything less than the worst of me at this point in our relationship,” he said, “but marrying Max is your only hope of reclaiming the social standing you enjoyed before you were abducted.”

  “Who said I enjoyed it? I seem to remember suffering through dozens of stifling suppers, incredibly dull tea parties, and boring balls. My only amusement was imagining you strolling through the door at one of those functions just so I could give you the cut direct.”

  “Without the protection of Max’s name, all of society will be giving you the cut direct. Think about it, Clarinda. You’ve just spent three months imprisoned in a sultan’s harem. For anyone who’s ever read The Lustful Turk—and I can promise you more people have read it than will ever confess to it—a harem is no different from a brothel down on Fleet Street. What do you think every man—every gentleman—in London is going to be thinking about every time he looks at you?”

  “Probably exactly what you think about every time you look at me.”

  Ash swore beneath his breath. “This time your father’s wealth won’t even be able to protect you f
rom their censure. The men will lay wagers at their gaming clubs on which one of them will be the first to bed you, while their wives and daughters publicly shun you. You’ll never be welcomed in their homes again but will be forced to live out the rest of your life on the fringes of polite society. You’d have a better chance of restoring your good name if you threw yourself off a bridge or down a well. At least then they could murmur and sigh over the terrible tragedy of it all while secretly admiring you for choosing the most honorable means of dealing with your ‘disgrace.’”

  “And just how is marrying your brother going to prevent all of this?”

  “Not only is Max the heir to a dukedom but he sits on the Court of Directors of the East India Company. Some of the most powerful and influential men in all of England are indebted to him for their living. With the Earl of Dravenwood as your husband, at least their condemnation will be confined to whispers behind closed doors. And once Max becomes chairman of the Company, they won’t even dare whisper your name with anything less than respect for fear he would ruin both their reputations and their fortunes.”

  “Ah! So you’re letting me go for my own good. How very noble of you!” Clarinda winked at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Poppy or the scandal sheets. I’d hate to ruin your reputation when you’re so intent upon saving mine.”

  Resting his hands on his hips, Ash glared at her. “You know, you haven’t changed one whit. You’re every bit as impossible as you were when you were a girl.” Shaking his head, he turned to walk away from her.

  Panic swelled in Clarinda’s heart. She had nothing left to offer him now. Nothing that might entice him to stay. He had already taken everything.

  “It would probably be best if we strove to lay aside all of our past enmity before we reach the earl’s encampment,” she said. “After all, you’re going to be my brother-in-law very soon. Perhaps, in time, you’ll even learn to think of me as a sister.”

  Ash’s steps slowed a fraction.

  “I do hope you know our home will always be open to you. You can come visit for Christmas and Candlemas. You can stay at our town house in Mayfair during the Season, attend the christenings of our children.”

  Ash slowed even more.

  “I suspect you’ll make a very fine uncle, and your nieces and nephews will adore you. Most children can’t resist an adult with a naughty streak even greater than their own. You’ll be able to entertain them with stories about all of your exotic travels and dashing exploits, leaving out the seedier parts, of course, so as not to corrupt their tender young souls.” As the distance between them grew, her words began to tumble out even faster. “Perhaps you would even consider traveling to England with us for our wedding. I’m sure it would please Maximillian more than you could ever know to have his brother stand up for him at the altar.”

  Ash froze in his tracks, then shook his head and kept walking.

  Clarinda had promised herself she would not cry or beg this time, but she had no control over the furious tears that sprang into her eyes. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that you’re running away again,” she called after him. “After all, running away is what you’ve always done best!”

  Ash quickened his pace, each long stride more resolute than the last.

  Pride had kept the lid on Clarinda’s anguish and fury for almost ten years, but now she didn’t have enough left to stop it from boiling over. She had believed she was no longer capable of loving with the same headstrong recklessness that had broken her heart and nearly brought her to ruin, but then he had come sauntering back into her life and proved her wrong.

  “I’m such a fool,” she shouted, trembling with rage. “I should have known not to trust a single word—or a single kiss—that came from those lying lips of yours because you stood right there in that meadow after you made love to me and promised you’d come back for me. But you never did! You didn’t even have the decency to send me a polite letter begging off our engagement. You just left me standing there waiting for all those years while you went off and—”

  “I came back!” Ash roared, wheeling around to face her. His face had been stripped of the devil-may-care mask he wore so well to reveal the face of a man in the throes of a passion strong enough to destroy him. Strong enough to destroy them both. He retraced his steps one by one, stopping less than an arm’s length away from her before saying, more softly this time, “I came back.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Clarinda gazed up at Ash in astonishment, struggling to understand how the boy she had last seen standing beneath the sturdy boughs of an English oak could have suddenly materialized in the middle of the Moroccan desert. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

  “I came back a little over four months later on the eve of your wedding to another man.”

  “Dewey,” she whispered. No matter how often she said the name, she couldn’t seem to bring the bland, pleasant features that went along with it into focus in her memory.

  “Yes, the Honorable Viscount Darby,” Ash said with excoriating sarcasm. “A far more suitable mate for a wealthy heiress than I could have ever hoped to be.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “How on earth did you find out I was supposed to marry Dewey?”

  “As soon as my ship docked, I rode straight to your father’s estate. I was passing through the woods when I overheard the gamekeeper and his son discussing the grand wedding that was to be held there the next day.”

  “So you just turned your horse around and left? Without saying a word to anyone?”

  “That’s exactly what I should have done. But I waited at the edge of the woods until nightfall, until you appeared in the window seat of your bedchamber.”

  He would have known she loved to curl up in that window seat every evening at twilight with a novel by Jane Austen or a book of poems by Lord Byron. He had scaled the rose trellis beneath her window countless times just to steal a good-night kiss from her eager lips.

  The hard edge in his voice softened a degree. “You were wearing a cream-colored dressing gown and your hair was pinned up in an untidy knot on top of your head. You had your chin propped on your hand and you were watching the drive with the most wistful expression on your face. I assumed you were waiting for your adoring bridegroom to arrive.”

  Clarinda briefly pressed her eyes shut. It hadn’t been her bridegroom she had been waiting for at all. “Why in the name of heaven didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you try to stop me from marrying him?”

  Ash’s casual shrug conveyed volumes. “Why would I? You were on the verge of getting everything you ever wanted.”

  “You were the only thing I ever wanted!” she cried.

  “Well, then … everything you deserved. You were going to be the wife of a viscount. You were finally going to have a title to go along with your fortune. No one would ever be able to mock you again for not being a lady or make you cry. And most importantly, you were going to be marrying a decent man, something I wasn’t sure even then I could ever be.” Passion roughened his voice, reminding her of how it had sounded in the night when he had urged her to roll over to her stomach or lift her leg a little bit higher. “If I had been a decent man, I would have never compromised you. I would have been willing to wait until I had more to offer you than just a hasty tumble in the grass.”

  “If that’s what you believed, then why did you come back at all?”

  He reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the tenderness of his touch sending a shiver dancing over her skin. “Because I decided I’d rather live in a garret and eat bread and cheese for the rest of my life than spend another night without you in my arms.” His hand fell away from her, curling into a loose fist at his side. “But when I realized you couldn’t even wait four bloody months for me, I knew I had been right to leave, knew the best thing I could do was to go away and never darken your door again. So that’s what I did. I rode straight back to Portsmouth as if the very devil was on m
y heels and caught the first ship to India.”

  Clarinda shook her head, staggered by his revelation. The treacherous joy singing through her heart was tempered by a wealth of regrets. “If only you had come to me … if only I had known you were right outside my window that night … if only …”

  She was so caught up in mourning the years they had lost that she didn’t see the golden cloud approaching from the east until Ash shaded his eyes against the climbing sun to track it.

  “What is it?” Clarinda asked, moving closer to him without realizing it. “Is it a sandstorm?”

  The bitter twist of Ash’s lips should have warned her. “I do believe, my dear, that the cavalry has arrived. My brother always did have an impeccable sense of timing.”

  That was when Clarinda realized the sand wasn’t being stirred by the wind but by hundreds of hooves pounding their way across the desert.

  She stood paralyzed in place, watching the shimmering cloud grow larger and more inescapable right along with the trepidation in her heart.

  Their oasis idyll had come to an end. They didn’t have three days. They didn’t even have three minutes.

  Her bridegroom was coming for her.

  Chapter Thirty

  The regiment of East India Company soldiers came bearing down upon the oasis, the hooves of their mounts sending up golden plumes of sand. Many of the men wore native kaffiyehs to protect their heads from the sun’s blistering rays along with their handsome scarlet coats and white-and-buff trousers.

  As they drew closer, Yasmin ducked out of the tent flap and came tearing around the edge of the pool. Luca emerged right behind her, his chest bare and his breeches undone. He was wearing one boot and clutching the other in his hand.