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“Same to you, Your Grace.”
He took another drink. Nothing good would come if he dared to treat the innocent miss like another of his paramours, but he could not help but wonder what she would look like arching under him. He wanted to claim her lips for her first kiss.
Slipping a little to rest a foot on his edge of the marble fireplace, he felt himself stiffen. Fantasies danced through his head, sharp and fleeting like shards reflected on the floor. He wanted to find out what she was afraid to ask for. What she craved. What would make her skin catch fire in seconds? He wanted to tangle his hands in her hair to spill it down her back; he would take his time teasing her, kissing, sucking, and suckling on her flesh and drink her uninhibited cries.
Gulping the rest of his drink, he shook his head, “I am the worst kind of bastard. I have no right to touch her and spoil her with my unspeakable sins.”
Moreover, newly joined to the ton as she was, even he understood that true gentlemen would not spoil the lady’s chances of finding a good match and marrying well.
“When have I been a true gentleman though?”
CHAPTER4
Rule Four: Do not make promises
Promises are only a noose around a man’s neck.
—Gabriel Williams
A Rake’s Rules
“Pardon me, Miss.” Amelia Kemp, the young maid, came into the drawing room where Anastasia and Victoria sat, bearing a brilliant bouquet. “His Grace had sent these for you.”
“Thank you, Amelia,” Anastasia replied as she gazed on the haphazard splash of color. There were vivid pinks Hollyhocks, white heather, purple Lupins, pale pink, Ragged Robin, and dots of Rose Buds.
Victoria placed her teacup down and gazed at the collection with liquid misting over her eyes. “That is the loveliest bouquet I have ever seen.”
“It is,” Anastasia replied smiling.
“Surely, he admires you,” Victoria added. “It’s so lovely. I wish any suitor of mine would do something as sweet as this.”
Oddly enough, this bouquet says everything but sweet.
Slanting her head, Anastasia began to decode the meaning of the flower, and when she was finished, she felt her lips tick up. Gabriel meant it—he did not believe in love.
“Do you know the language of flowers, Victoria?”
Her friend blinked. “There is alanguage?”
“Of course,” Anastasia replied. “For thousands of years the symbolic language of flowers has been used in mythologies, folklore, sonnets, and plays of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Nearly every sentiment you have can be expressed with flowers from love to hatred. For example, if you wanted to tell someone you loved them, you would of course send red roses; pink roses, however, suggest just a passing fancy.”
“I would love to learn it; please teach me,” Victoria implored.
“Of course,” Anastasia smiled.
Smiling, Victoria looked back on the bouquet, “What does this one says then?”
“This bouquet is from someone who is saying they admire your imaginative wit and that they wish you luck with your ambitions.” Anastasia plucked the rose bud out. “This one means,my heart has no love.”
Gasping in horror, Victoria scuttled back a little. “What? How could he…” Her gaze flickered to the lovely flowers that, otherwise, anyone would have thought were a showing of love. “…send this when he feels that way?”
“I do not know what made him seek to find only intimate pleasure from women—”
“Oh, he enjoys his women. There is report of his latest exploits in theTimes,Morning Post,and theGazettealmost every other day,” Victoria added. “We know he chooses women who are…erm… I would sayexperienced, so that is why the town is shocked he is set on you.”
Shaking her head, Anastasia continued, “—but I can only conjecture, someone made him embittered. He is not set on me, not truly. What happened to us was that we had not been paying attention to those around us, and he was pushed into a corner with one way out.”
Victoria’s lips slipped open. “Are you telling me this courtship is fake?”
