Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(34)

Matthew tightened all his muscles against the overpowering urge to snatch her up and carry her to the nearby settee. He wanted to make love to her, to bury himself inside her until bitter memories had dissolved in her sweetness. But that chance had been stolen from him long before they had ever met.

He had nothing to offer her. His life, his name, his identity…it was all an illusion. He was not the man she thought he was. And it was only a matter of time until she found out.

To his chagrin he realized he had unconsciously clenched a hand in her skirts as if in preparation to hike them up. The satin spilled in gleaming drifts between his fingers. He thought of her body wrapped up in all these garments and lacing, and the ungodly pleasure it would be to strip her naked. To map her body with his mouth and fingertips, learning every curve and hollow, every hidden place.

Watching his hand as if it belonged to someone else, Matthew uncurled his fingers one by one until the yellow satin dropped. He turned her to face him, staring into the rich brown depths of her eyes.

“Matthew,” she said thickly.

It was the first time she had ever used his first name. He struggled to conceal the strength of his response. “Yes?”

“The way you phrased yourself earlier…you didn’t say you won’t marry me under any circumstances…you said you can’t. Why?”

“Since it’s not going to happen,” he said, “the reasons are irrelevant.”

Daisy frowned, her lips pursing in a way that made him long to kiss them.

He moved aside to let her go.

Obeying the silent signal, Daisy began to brush by him.

But as Daisy’s arm bumped against his, Matthew caught her wrist in his fingers, and suddenly she was in his arms again. He couldn’t stop himself from taking her mouth with his, kissing her as if she belonged to him, as if he were inside her.

This is what I feel for you, he told her with fierce, consuming kisses. This is what I want. He felt the new tension in her limbs, tasted her arousal, and realized he could bring her to cl**ax here and now, if he reached beneath her dress and—

No, he told himself savagely. This had already gone too far. Realizing how close he was to losing all self-control, Matthew ripped his mouth from hers with a quiet groan and thrust Daisy away from him.

She fled the library immediately. The hem of the yellow gown trailed after her, curling around the edge of the doorjamb before disappearing like the last ray of the sun slipping over the horizon.

And Matthew wondered bleakly how he was going to interact with her in a normal manner ever again.

It was a time-honored tradition for the mistress of a country estate to act as Lady Bountiful to the tenants and local villagers. This meant giving assistance and advice, and donating necessary items such as food and clothing to those who needed it most. Lillian had performed the duties willingly until now, but her condition had made it impossible.

There was no question of asking Mercedes to substitute for her—Mercedes was too abrasive and impatient for such an undertaking. She did not like to be around sick people. She made the elderly uneasy, and something in her tone inevitably caused babies to cry.

Therefore Daisy was the logical choice. Daisy didn’t mind visiting day at all. She liked taking the pony cart out by herself, to deliver parcels and jars, read to those with bad vision, and collect news from the villagers. Even better, the informal nature of the errands meant she didn’t have to dress fashionably or worry about etiquette.

There was yet another reason Daisy was glad to go to the village…it kept her busy and away from the manor, so she could focus her thoughts on something other than Matthew Swift.

It had been three days since that dreadful parlor game and its consequences—namely, being kissed out of her wits by Matthew. Now he was behaving toward her as he always had, cool and courteous.

Daisy could almost believe it had been a dream except that whenever she was near Swift, her nerves began throwing off sparks, and her stomach swooped up and down like a drunken sparrow.

She wanted to discuss it with someone but that would have been too mortifying, and somehow it would have felt like a betrayal, though of whom she wasn’t certain. All she knew was that nothing felt right. She wasn’t sleeping well, and as a result she was clumsy and distracted in the daytime.

Thinking she might be ill, Daisy had gone to the housekeeper with a description of her condition and had been dosed with a nasty spoonful of castor oil. It hadn’t helped in the least. Worst of all, she couldn’t keep her mind on her books. She had read the same pages over and over again, and they had no power to interest her.

Daisy had no idea how to put herself to rights again. But she thought it would be a good thing to stop thinking about herself and do something for someone else.

She set out mid-morning in the big open pony-cart drawn by a sturdy brown pony named Hubert. The cart was laden with china jars filled with food, bolts of flannel, wheels of cheese, parcels of turnip-fed mutton, bacon and tea, and bottles of port.

The visits were generally quite pleasant, the villagers seeming to enjoy Daisy’s cheerful presence. Some of them made her laugh as they slyly described how it had been in the old days when Lord Westcliff’s mother had come to call.

The dowager countess had dispensed her gifts grudgingly, expecting a great show of gratitude. If the women hadn’t curtseyed deeply enough, the dowager countess had asked sourly if their knees were stiff. She had also expected to be consulted about what names they should call their children, and she had instructed them on what their views on religion and hygiene should be. More aggravating still, the countess had brought food that had been mixed in an unappetizing jumble, meats and vegetables and sweets all crammed together in the same tin.