The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(20)

There was a pause. A pause in which she could hear and feel the beating of her own heart. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts.

Rafe’s voice was low and clear. “A kiss.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Rafe’s eyes never left hers. He took a deep breath. He wasn’t entirely certain why he’d said it, wasn’t at all certain she wouldn’t slap him for suggesting it, and was reasonably certain she was about to say no and stalk from the room.

There was something about her casual dismissal. The way she’d been talking with that fool Fitzwell, as if she gave a damn about him. Did a title matter so much to her? He’d tried to explain the blond in the bed more times than he wanted to remember. Daphne had refused to believe any of it, but in the end, it hadn’t been the point. Daphne wasn’t for him. She wasn’t for him a year ago and she wasn’t for him now. She was so far above him he couldn’t even see her. But even had they been of the same social class, she was young, she was innocent, she was interested in settling down to a nice income and children and a Mayfair town house. That would never be for Rafe. Rafe couldn’t come home each night from a useless gentleman’s club. He couldn’t even stay in London longer than a week or two, let alone England. Daphne couldn’t live a life where she was constantly in upheaval, following him around from mission to mission. He might be ordered to stay home for the time being due to his injuries, which was driving him slowly mad, but he’d healed and would soon be completely reinstated and then be gone. That was who he was. The mission starting Sunday night would be his first time back on duty since he’d been hurt. Daphne Swift, sweet, beautiful, innocent Daphne Swift, did not belong there with him. After she completed her part of the mission, she belonged safely back in this town house with her mother and her aunt and her fichu and her funny little cousin. Not on a ship to France to track down murderers. That was where Rafe was going.

So why had he been so jealous—yes, jealous, damn it—when he’d seen her walking in the drawing room with Fitzbore? And why had Rafe asked her for a kiss? Blast it. He didn’t know why.

“A kiss?” she whispered a bit brokenly.

“Yes.” His heart thumped in his chest.

“Why would you want a kiss from me?”

“I want to have it to remember you by.”

Daphne turned slowly, and while he expected he might see tears shimmering in her eyes or anger glowing there, instead he saw a look he could only describe as … determined.

“And if I kiss you, what will you give me in return? Will you leave?”

“Yes.”

Her eyebrow arched at that bit of news. “Fine.” She stalked over to him, arms still crossed over her chest. “Let’s get this over with.” She stopped a foot in front of him, puckered her lips, and squeezed shut her eyes.

Rafe chuckled at her. He moved backward toward the settee and took a seat, spreading his legs wide and opening his arms across the back of the thing.

Daphne opened her bright gray eyes and glared at him. “What are you doing?” Her mouth was open, her eyes rounded.

“I’m not about to make this easy for you.”

She scowled at him, her arms still tightly crossed over her chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you have to kiss me. A real kiss. A memorable one.”

The look she shot him could have melted armor.

*

Daphne swallowed and walked in a tight line, pacing first away toward the door and then back to where she’d previously stood. She removed her gloves and poked them into her reticule. Then she tugged at her third finger, flicking the nail back and forth, then pausing to nibble at it.

Rafe was playing a game and she didn’t understand the rules. She closed her eyes at the memory of the last time she’d tried to kiss him. Tried and failed. Didn’t he remember that? Or had it just been another casual interlude with a female that was relegated to the back of his memory? Oh, God. The worst part was that it was better if he didn’t remember it. Better for her at least. She’d be spared the humiliation of him reminding her that he’d rejected her.

And if he tried to lie to her about that confounded blond harlot one more time, Daphne wouldn’t be responsible for her actions!

She supposed it didn’t really matter whether she kissed him or not. As long as no one found out and as long as she got what she wanted. At present what she wanted was for Rafe to leave this party and not come back until she was happily and officially engaged.

She opened her eyes again and met his gaze. He looked almost boyish in the softness of the candlelight. He was as handsome as she’d ever seen him and she couldn’t lie to herself and say that it wasn’t tempting to …

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him? She took a deep breath. She wanted to go. She wanted to stay. She wanted to … kiss him.

She let the air settle silently in her tight lungs, but her mind had sprinted two steps ahead. She was going to kiss him.





CHAPTER TWELVE




A memorable kiss. Daphne straightened her shoulders. Very well. She could do this. The man was half lounging against the settee, his arm tossed casually across the back, his knees spread apart, his booted feet planted on the rug in front of him. He was watching her with a mixture of amusement and wariness. He looked as if he half expected her to bolt at any moment. What could he be about by asking her to kiss him?