Page 14 of My Darling Rogue
Several of the women appeared fascinated by the blatant display of such masculine virility. Celia heard their excited whispering as she attempted blending into their midst.
“My lord, behave yourself,” Ivy gasped in mock outrage while attempting to conceal her grin.
“But why?” Sebastian countered, his brow raising in amused puzzlement. “I am merely greeting my beautiful wife after a lengthy absence.”
“It’s been but a few hours, Ravenswood. Surely, you could not have missed me that much,” Ivy laughed.
“Of course, he has! Nearly as much as I’ve missed my own wife,” the Earl of Bentley declared as he too dismounted and wrapped Sara in an enthusiastic embrace. Alan swung her around in a complete circle as she squealed with delight in the most unladylike manner.
Yearning twisted Celia’s heart as watched her friends’ interactions with their husbands. The two women enjoyed something very rare in English society—genuine love matches with their soulmates. It was the type of relationship she could never hope for.
With a sigh, she averted her gaze and found herself caught by Gabriel’s dark eyes. He watched her with a mysterious intensity from atop his horse. For a long moment, they simply stared at one other until Sebastian’s attention turned to his friend.
“Mister Rose, have you ever seen a lovelier sight than this group of ladies on the road to Beaumont?”
“I have not, Lord Ravenswood,” Gabriel drawled with a slight smile. “An enchanting collection of beauty rivaling that of any garden. And likely as sweet as any confection ever created.” His tone was dulcet smoothness, its melodic nature sending a blush creeping up many of the ladies’ cheeks.
Including Celia’s. For she’d heard that voice in the dark stillness of a locked room. It was the same voice he’d used while calling her a sugarplum and demanding she find satisfaction in the use of his body.
Like an inferno, the unwelcome memory flashed through Celia. Flustered and suddenly desperate to escape Gabriel’s mocking gaze, she twisted away. But instead of a hasty exit toward Beaumont, she abruptly landed on her bottom in the road. A moan of pain rose from her throat when she grabbed her ankle in reflex.
“Oh, my dear! Are you hurt?” Sara called out, already pulling free of her husband’s playful embrace. “Here, Bentley. I must see to her.”
There was a rush of movement, the sense of a much larger entity cleaving through the group. Before Celia could form an answer, Gabriel was at her side. Kneeling in the gravel of the dusty road, his hands reached under her skirts while Celia struggled to comprehend his speed in dismounting his horse and reaching her.
“Be still, now.” His voice rumbled through her like a thunderstorm. “Is it your knee or ankle?”
“My ankle, I think,” Celia whispered as Gabriel’s fingers brushed over her stocking-covered upper leg before moving downward in a feather-soft caress of exploration.
“Then we must unravel these laces and relieve the pressure. Otherwise, you will suffer even more as time passes.”
Celia stared at Gabriel’s bowed head in dumbfounded amazement as he began untying the laces of her walking boots. His boldness was unheard of. His actions were completely inappropriate.
And utterly scandalous. Was he intentionally trying to ruin them both? No gentleman would dare thrust his hand beneath a lady’s skirt in such a manner and certainly not within full view of others. Even if he only meant to ease her discomfort, it simply wasn’t done.
But there was no ignoring the thrill of his gloved hand holding her foot steady against his thigh as he worked on the strings. A dangerous flash of pleasure overrode the pain, leaving her gasping in surprise. Gabriel glanced up at the slight sound, his jaw morphing into a block of steel as implications of this spontaneous rescue began sinking in.
And yet, he did not stop.
Gathering around, the other ladies pressed closer so they would have a better view of Gabriel’s hand beneath Celia’s skirts. Scandalized murmurs, like the darkening rain clouds overhead, swirled around them.
“Blast, why didn’t I think of doing that?” With a huff of indignation, Lady Lydia popped open a blue sprigged parasol. She held it high so there would be no interference with the grandeur of the matching hat.
Raindrops plunked onto the graveled road. Fat, cold raindrops that would soon send everyone scattering in search of drier environs. Although they provided flimsy protection at most during a rainstorm, parasols sprung open like garden blooms.
Gabriel’s shirt was becoming splotched by the drops, the cambric clinging to his skin in various areas. Celia swallowed hard. A smattering of curling dark hair peeped from the open vee of the garment. He was so close she could see the pulse of his heart beating in the vein running alongside his neck.
Good Lord.
“Come away now, butterfly, before you receive a soaking,” Sebastian instructed his wife while sharing a nod with Gabriel.
That tore Celia’s attention away from Gabriel’s neck. A shiver of apprehension chased her nerves. Odd, but Sebastian’s slight gesture toward his friend seemed as though it might be one of permission.
Throwing Sebastian an exasperated glare, Ivy ignored the directive and knelt beside her friend. “I shall send carriages back immediately for—”
Gabriel gave a low, nearly imperceptible growl that had Celia and Ivy’s eyes widening. With graceful quickness, he scooped Celia up into his arms and rose to his feet. “No need. See to your guests, my lady. It will be quicker if I return Lady Celia to Beaumont myself.”
CHAPTER8
